


Self Made Cages

by CaptainAmelia22



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Dark, Blend of Comics-verse and Movie-verse, F/M, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:31:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 80,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/CaptainAmelia22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am the daughter of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts.  But I am not a hero like my parents or their friends.  I am a murderer.  I am a genius.  I am a widow.  And I am insane.  Whoever has chosen to play this game with me should realize this:  I have nothing left to lose.  And I am not afraid to break again.  </p><p>You have chosen the wrong family to threaten.</p><p> </p><p>(title comes from MS MR song Bones)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken Soul:  The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose I must start out saying that the tags say "kid fic" but it's not so much "kid" as it is a story about a superhero's daughter growing up. There will be some flashback scenes in this story, just to establish plot points and characters. There will be some warnings applied to certain chapters due to violence, suicidal thoughts, alcohol abuse and dubious consent. 
> 
> Also, this is a blend of the Iron Man comics and movies. There are things I love about each verse, namely Tony's growth in the comics and the suits in the movies. So it may seem a little unusual as time goes on. 
> 
> Hopefully everyone likes this and let me know what you think!
> 
> -M

His voice is like something from my nightmares.

It weaves through this dark that I run through, desperate and lost, and I know…

I know that we are running out of time.

“ _I’m coming for you Jacqueline Stark. I’m going to crush your skull and then I’m going to finish Sammy off just for fun. Doesn’t that sound like a good game Jacqui?_ ”

I’m panting, my lungs are aching and I can feel blood trailing between my breasts to clot in the lace waistband of my underwear.

But I can’t stop.

Sam is dying.

I’m dying.

And our killer is following us, his mad eyes glowing with red fire in the dark we weave through.

“Hold on Sammy, hold on for me love,” I whisper, my arms aching with the burden I bear. With the broken body of my brave soldier. He’s unconscious now, his head cradled against the silver light of my chest piece and if not for the blood dribbling from his slack lips I’d be relieved.

But in all honesty…there’s no time for relief.

Just panic.

“ _How much longer does your precious Sammy have, little Jacqui? Hmm? How many more beats does his noble heart hold? Twenty? Ten? …One?_ ”

“Shut up,” I sob and my metal feet slide in the pool of blood I’ve run through.

Again.

 _Oh God. I’ve been going in circles_.

It’s so dark. So dark and I cannot see if I’m right.

I can’t see _anything_.

“JARVIS?” I whisper, hopeful despite the blankness of the HUD, the silence in the helmet I wear. He hasn’t spoken to me since I landed outside of this warehouse, in my mother’s stolen suit.

I renamed it on the day I killed my first man.

A new name to go with a new paint job.

Dad won’t approve…

“J, please, tell me you’re at least a little bit aware,” I whisper, blood on my lips.

The light is uncertain, flickering and I know the modified arc nestled in my suit’s chest is dying.

I’ve taken one-too-many hits; Stane has been playing this game with me for hours and the suit can’t hold up to his weapons much longer. I may have named it to help me feel like a hero, but the truth of the matter is it’s not an Iron Man suit. It is not made for sustained battle. It’s a pirated version of the Rescue suit. It’s made for saving lives.

Well…It’s not going to save anything after this little nightmare.

With each lurching step, with each flicker of the arc I can tell my time is running out. I have minutes, at best, and if I don’t finish this insane nightmare I’m going to be dead. As I run, a little corner of my mind takes stock of my injuries, uselessly cataloguing, uselessly analyzing.

It won’t matter how broken I am anymore.

But I do it anyways, ever the scientist’s daughter.

My leg is broken, five of my ribs as well and I think even my collar bones have been shattered from that last core grenade Stane left for me.

_How am I still alive?_

My spit-fire mind provides me with the answer even when I don’t want it to. _It’s the suit…_

Mom’s suit is keeping me upright.

At least…as long as the arc continues to glow.

“Miss Stark.”

I sob at the cool voice in my ear and thank any gods who may be watching over us as the HUD flickers into life.

“JARVIS, oh thank God. It’s Stane. Stane is here! He’s-“

“Come to finish the game, little Stark!” he whispers, right behind me and I feel his fist connect with the back of my head.

I’m thrown forward, my arms locked tight around Sam’s battered body and we fall against the wall; I wrap myself around him, desperate to keep him safe and I turn my head slowly so I can look over my shoulder at the madman intent on killing us.

“Hello again Jacqueline. Having a good time? Like the suit by the way. Bluebird is so fitting a name, so…crushable.”

Ezekiel Stane, safe in the Iron Monger armor he’s somehow managed to rig from leftover Stark tech, is standing just outside of my peripheral, his red eyes glowing like a demon’s and I know…

He’s going to kill me.

I suppose that’s fair…I’ve killed ten of his men over the past two days, trying to find him so I can put a stop to this game.

“I’m sorry Sam,” I whisper as I lower his broken body to the dirty cement floor of the abandoned warehouse we’ve been scrambling through for the past eternity. “So sorry Sammy.”

His eyes open as Stane’s hand settles on my shoulder and I know he’s dying.

There’s too much blood…

“Don’t leave me Jack,” he whispers, blood spraying from his lips and I shudder violently as it splashes against the silver light of my arc reactor.

A fine film of red not a part of the HUD settles over my vision and I snarl as Stane jerks me upright and throws me bodily across the room; I’m just a tangle of whirring joints and flailing metal limbs but I’m strong. I land on my feet and turn quickly, despite the pain, despite the blood.

I don’t want Stane to think he’s going to win this so easily.

He is hunched in the middle of the room, his legs spread and his hands raised, the little circular repulsors all aglow, waiting to blast me to pieces.

“ _Fight me Jacqueline Stark!_ ” he screams.

And God help me…

“Happy to oblige,” I hiss and I throw myself across the room, my fingers curled and my teeth bared; I am determined to tear him apart, just like he did to my best friend who is currently dying in a puddle of his own gore.

My best friend.

My soldier.

My _husband_.

JARVIS helps without me asking, somehow knowing what I need, and the power he diverts from the suit’s energy reserves allows me to tear Stane’s face plate from his helmet.

He’s grinning at me, his teeth white in the darkness.

I bare mine in a snarl as I break his perfectly white teeth in and start to laugh as his blood smears over my fingers.

I yank the bright red arc reactor from his chest next, the warmth of its energy core rippling over my fingers; even through the gold-titanium alloy of my suit I can feel the corrupted palladium and it makes my skin crawl.

“This is mine,” I whisper, the suit’s vocal parameters lending a certain ominousness to my words.

He only waves his hand, whispering, his own blood staining his lips, “Go ahead, feel it Jacqui, enjoy the feel of it breaking under your fingers…”

And I crush the pirated tech between the silver and gold fingers of my stolen suit.

“You bastard,” I snarl, as I begin tearing into his chest plate, searching for his heart. I’ll crush it like I crushed his arc. “You took Sam from me!”

Stane is laughing, his body useless now that the arc is nothing but smoldering shrapnel in the corner of the room and his hand rises slowly to rest against my metal cheek.

“You’re reveling in this Jacqui, aren’t you?” he whispers as I bury my fingers in his chest and prepare to break through the thin layer of gold just above his heart. “You and I are not so different after all. You’re not as uselessly noble as your father. You’re too _practical_. You know this will only end in death. So go ahead and try!”

And I have had enough.

He has been torturing Sam for two days.

He has been teasing me for just as long, sending me messages through Dad’s computers about how he has been toying with my husband. Telling me to hurry.

He forced me to kill his men.

I _killed_ so I could save Sam.

And I failed.

_Time is running out for you Jacqui…_

God, I have had enough of his games. I have had enough of his hands on me. On those I love.

My fingers lock on his jaw and I lean in so he can see the silver eyes of my suit.

“I think I’ll enjoy trying Ezekiel,” I whisper with a bloody sneer. Blood trails from my lips to pool on the HUD but he cannot see. He cannot see me dying behind the scowling faceplate of my armor.

“Good for you,” he gasps, his blue eyes sparkling in the silver glow of my arc. “Taking initiative. That’s good Jacqui. That’s good. Sam would be _so_ proud of you.”

I snarl at Sam’s name on his lips.

And then I start to squeeze.

He chokes out a laugh as my fingers bear into his throat and his hand begins to shake against my temple, metal on metal.

Stolen suit writhing under stolen suit.

But he keeps talking, even as I kill him.

“Once upon a time,” he gasps and his blood sprays to join Sam’s and mine on the silver, gold and blue paint of my armor. “There was a spoiled little brat of a princess named Jacqui…”

I barely hear his words. I am focusing on the forced diversion of power from the arc into my fingers.

I do not notice the deadening of my leg or the pools of blood gathering in my collar bones or in the crotch of my silk panties.

All I notice is…

The creaking of shattering bone.

And a faint whine of data in the back of my skull.

“She hated her parents and she hated their superhero friends,” Stane groans, his words thick with blood and plasma and I grit my teeth in the flickering after-glow of my helmet. “And she made their lives hell, content to destroy them so she could live her own life…”

 _Just a bit more JARVIS_ , I think desperately as my knee rises to rest against his chest, to give me the leverage I need so my dying fingers can crush him once-and-for-all. _Come on, don’t fail me now…_

“And she was so bad, such an evil little brat and no one ever loved her. No one ever loved her,” he groans and his words are so guttural with the blood welling in his lungs they’re almost lost.

But I hear them.

I will always hear them.

“Miss Stark, I have deployed the distress signal. May I suggest-“

“No,” I snarl and I don’t know who I’m speaking to. My Dad’s computer…or his enemy.

Stane’s dying brown eyes meet mine and he chokes out a whispered little laugh. “Well Jacqui? You going to do it? Or are you going to be just like Dad and throw me in Ryker’s again? Is this the deciding factor for Jacqueline Stark? Hmm? Be like Dad? Or be your own person? Because…”

He groans and my fingers loosen just a bit, uncertain, even now.

 _Can I do this again? Can I kill another person?_ I think desperately, my lungs aching as I pant against the heavy metal of my armor. _Am I bad if I do this?_

Then my head rises and I look just beyond our own pile of blood and shattered metal to the crumpled body of the only person I have ever loved; I can see his eyes flutter open just once, see his hand stretch towards me, the broken fingers stretching, pleading for me to go to him.

I don’t.

“Jack,” he whispers and there is nothing but agony in his words. “Jack, don’t do it…”

His hand falls with finality and his eyes go glassy in the half light of my flickering silver arc and my fingers spasm against Stane’s throat.

“You killed him,” I whisper, shock and pain in my voice and my body shudders in its metal tomb, already on its own road towards death. “You bastard…”

He’s laughing still, his mad eyes shining with tears and that throws me over the edge.

I crush him. Like he’s been telling me he’d do to me for the past two days.

And I revel in it.

_God help me…_

“I am nothing like my father,” I whisper as my fingers crunch through bone and tendon and blood trickles between my breasts to pool in the lace lingerie Sam Rhodes got me for the first night of our honeymoon.

Ezekiel Stane lets out a feeble scream but I put a stop to that with one last blow to his skull.

It caves beneath my palm like an egg.

It’s a wonderful feeling.

**

I crash through the roof of Dad’s workshop the moment the arc reactor stutters into death.

I fall through several tons of structured cement to crumple on the floor, my arms wrapped tight around Sam’s limp body. Somehow…somehow I got us out of that warehouse. Away from Stane. But it’s too late, isn’t it? Sam’s…Sam’s dead and I’m nearly there, just a pile of broken bone and twisted metal. And my mind…

Well…

I am blank, absent, dark nothingness. The only thing keeping me grounded in the present, keeping me alive, are Stane’s words.

_And she was so bad, such an evil little brat and no one ever loved her. **No one ever loved her.**_

I can’t stop hearing those words. He laughed as he said them, even as blood bubbled on his lips and his throat crushed under my hands.

He… _laughed_.

Finally, darkness takes me as cement powders on my stolen armor and I somehow manage to keep the worst of it from falling on Sam. He is cradled under my chin, wrapped in the solid weight of my arms.

I’m covered in blood.

Mine.

His.

Stane’s.

Mom’s screams jerk me back to reality and I try to dump the armor the moment Dad falls to his knees beside our crumpled bodies. I can’t though and I think maybe I really broke it this time.

_Dad’s going to kill me…_

“Sorry, sorry,” I whisper over and over, my arms tight around Sam and my blood mingles with his in the cement crater we lay in. “Sorry Sammy…”

Dad tries to take Sam’s limp corpse from me, his suit’s blue eyes blank as he takes in our battered bodies, the blood trickling through the grime towards his scarlet and gold knees.

There’s blood leaking through the joints and junctures of my suit.

So much.

His hand stretches out towards me, desperate to help. But it’s too late.

Far, far too late.

For all of us.

“Let him go Jacqui, it’s all right,” he whispers as he kneels over my huddled form and tries to pull my fingers free of Sam. “Let me hold him for you.”

“No,” I snarl, the word ripping from my lips and blood sprays against the blank HUD blanketing my eyes. “No.”

The red film is drifting once more over my vision and Dad has to use one of his own weapons against his insane daughter in her broken suit of stolen armor.

When I wake up I’m chained to a hospital bed

The armor I stole to save Sam has been removed from my body.

And he's still dead.

“Lock me away,” I snarl, my mind as broken as my body and Dad and his friends stare at me with judgment in their eyes. I’ve broken their code, haven’t I?

And I’m not even a goddamn superhero.

“Go on. Lock me up! It’s what I deserve! Just fucking get it over with!” I scream at them and I’m fighting, fighting my ghosts and fighting their cold, calculating eyes.

I lunge in my chains as one of them steps forward, his cloak whispering over the cold tile of my hospital room and his gray eyes are wild with power.

“Be calm Jacqueline Stark,” Doctor Stephen Strange murmurs and his finger is resting at my forehead before I can stop him. “Be calm and show me what you have done.”

I do because I can’t fight him.

My mind is gone the moment he touches me.

Gone into my nightmare.

The nightmare where Sam Rhodes dies and I crush the skull of his murderer.

It’s enough to condemn me, it seems, enough proof for my superhero family to lock me away.

Because the next time I wake up…

I’m in a maximum security cell of Rykers.

And Sam Rhodes is still dead.

_This is what I deserve, isn’t it? I suppose I’m not like Dad after all…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone_  
 _Lost in the pages of self made cages_  
 _Life slips away and the ghosts come to play_  
 _These are hard times_  
 _These are hard times for dreamers_  
 _And love lost believers_ ~Bones

* * *

**Rykers Island**

**Maximum Security Cell #49**

**Inmate #0001**

The Avengers come for me five years after I get sentenced with eleven counts of manslaughter.

That’s a life sentence that I forced my father and his colleagues to give me. I never expected to leave Rykers, I never wanted to leave my prison. There is blood on my hands, murders on my soul.

The least I can do is pay the price for my sins.

But they need me. The Avengers and their shadowy counterparts, the Illuminati, need _me_.

Jacqueline Skye Stark.

Heiress.

Genius.

Murderer.

_Why?_

My pardon comes early because I am the only one who can hope to save my parents. I am the only one smart enough to understand Tony Stark’s tech. The only one capable of hacking his code.

I am the only one capable of finding my mother and father.

Because, it seems someone out of our past, someone with a vendetta against my family, has decided now is the time to strike.  They have kidnapped my parents and the Avengers, the superheroes my father has sided with, fought with,  _died_ with, do not know how to get them back. 

So they've decided to pardon me for my sins.  

As if that is enough to erase them...

**

The warden is the one who comes for me on day 1,830 of my incarceration. I can’t help feeling honored.

The only time he leaves his office is if he’s leading a criminal to the chair.

I wonder idly if that’s what I’m in for.

That’s a bit exciting.

My breath fogs a bit as I lever out another push-up during my morning routine and his voice echoes around my cell as the door is thrown open and light spills into my little 9x9 square of hell.

“Stark. You’ve got a visitor. Move it.”

I pause in the middle of day 1,830’s hundredth pushup and glance at Rykers one and only god through the tangle of my sweaty bangs and frown.

“Visitor?” I croak, my voice rusty after long disuse. “Who?”

He folds his arms and my eyes settle on the adamantium shackles he holds. There are arm cuffs and a very lovely collar and chain leading to ankle cuffs. So. He’s serious about this.

My breath huffs as I finish five more pushups and then I am on my toes, my hands clasped meekly behind my back and my legs spread.

“Be gentle, love,” I say with a smirk as he moves towards me and prepares to shackle me in cold metal.

He taps me sharply in the stomach with his nightstick and I double over with a grunt, my breath whooshing out of my lungs so suddenly they ache.

“Don’t push it Stark. He’s the only reason why I’m letting you out. But it wouldn’t be hard to ignore him and send him on his way; that’s in my legal rights, no matter who he is. So don’t push me.” His cigar stained breath brushes my cheek as the adamantium settles with a faint click on my wrists and ankles and he jerks me upright by my ponytail.

I hiss and struggle briefly, half-remembered ghosts from my childhood threatening to overwhelm me as his hand fists through my thick black hair and he snaps the collar in place.

The adamantium sighs and molds perfectly to my skin and I shudder at the familiar design.

I know if I could raise the cuffs to my eyes, I’d be able to see the familiar, if out-of-date, Stark Industries logo gracing the gentle curves of the cuffs.

 _Oh Dad_ , I think with a smirk as I am pushed roughly from my cell. _Never could leave me alone could you? Even here with the guys you worked so hard to lock away._

I hesitate on the steel walkway outside of my little home and my blood runs cold as I realize who might actually be here to see me. _Fuck_. “Warden,” I snap, my voice echoing in the cavernous silence of max. “Who’s come to see me? Is it…It’s not Tony Stark is it?”

He is holding my elbow gently and my eyes rise to his as he sighs; he looks weary, like this job is killing him. Maybe it is. It wouldn’t be the first time. My pity is short-lived though because then he shakes me and growls, “Just get a move-on Stark. I’m breaking every rule doing this for him and I don’t really fancy losing my job over a spoiled snot and her bizarre family. Got it? So let’s go.”

And I am hauled bodily through the stark white and deathly silent halls of max into the far noisier medium security wings of Rykers; I can’t help but cringe into his massive figure as we near the double secured doors leading from my wing and my heart starts to hammer painfully in my chest as the doors open for me.

This is the first time I have stepped outside of maximum. And however ridiculous it may seem…I’m piss scared.

That is, until the catcalls greet me.

I straighten and twist my lips into a disdainful sneer as the men within this little paradise whistle and scream for me; they think because I’m a girl, because my family is rich, because they are criminals that I will shrink from them. That I will try to run away.

I won’t give this scum the pleasure.

I’m a goddamn Stark. No matter what I have done in the past, no matter how much blood I have on my hands, I am still a Stark. And I am stronger than they will ever give me credit for.

Given a chance…I’ll break them just like the men I’m in here for.

But no matter how strong-willed I am, as we pass by cell after cell, full of men eyeballing me and calling me in for a kiss or a grope, I find myself wishing the warden had let me dress in something a little more concealing.

I’m wearing the loose gray sweats and basic white tank-top of a max inmate; comfortable, sure, but it’s almost like being naked with these brutes. So I toss my hair for them and flip them the bird behind the warden’s back.

Hoots and curses greet my actions and I smirk.

Trust a Stark to put on a show, even when she’s discomfited.

Dad taught me well.

After the initial culture shock, I’m fine. I can handle these criminals, I know that. But as we near the lower cells-the goony level the guards call this part of Rykers- the catcalls start to get a little personal.

These are the guys my family has handled personally.

They know if I’d even come close to them, they’d be dead.

But I’m on their level now so this makes them brave. And there’re a few bars of steel between me and their ugly faces.

They think I can’t hurt them.

Stupid of them to think that, really.

“Hey baby! Baby Stark!” shouts one of the Serpent Squad. I notice he’s been appropriately defanged. That would be Dad’s work then. I smirk. Even as he continues, I keep smiling, “Your daddy come to break you out now? You going to walk with that blood on your hands?”

We pass him by but I want to pound his fangs in a bit more.

The freak.

My father will never break me out; he made sure I was put here.

“Sweetheart, heard you like the bad boys!” one of Hydra’s goons shouts in a thick German accent, his hands busy down by his crotch. I roll my eyes. So original this lot.

We pass by cell #174 and this is one of Stane’s little pets. I can almost smell the piss-scent of pure evil on him. And he’s smiling at me like I’m dinner. His hand stretches out towards me and I dance away as he purrs, “Hey there little Jacqui. Heard you like to play with old Zeke’s boys. Want to come over here and play with Brucie? I could show you a move or two.”

He winks and I spit in his general direction. “Fuck off creep,” I hiss and the warden’s hand tightens around my elbow, keeping me firmly in place against his side. Stane’s goon smirks and I snarl, “You’re next on my list.”

“I’ll be waiting, princess!” he yells as we continue on our way and I blink the faint sheen of red from my eyes.

The warden glances down at me and shakes his head. “You know, I have a daughter your age,” he mutters and my skin crawls as my cheeks flame. Why am I embarrassed? I have no reason to be.

I’m here because I took my life in my own hands and I stood up for myself.

I did what my father and his teammates had been telling me to do since I was in diapers.

I fought for myself.

Fuck you, I think. But there is no malice in the words. He’s just a civilian. How could he know what it’s like? Being the daughter of superheroes.

And the plaything of villains.

“She’s very lucky to have you, I’m sure,” I mutter while trying to twist free of his grip. His hands only tighten further and I pant a bit, suddenly furious. “How do you think she’d handle being the prey for this lot?” I ask with a general jerk of my head towards the inmates we’re passing. They’re still catcalling, the pricks. If I had the chance…I wonder if collecting tongues is still frowned upon… “Think she’d survive a little playtime with these animals?”

His eyes widen and he glances towards some of the inmates who are silently watching us. They have murder in their eyes and judging by the way they’re watching me, I’d say they’re some more of Stane’s pets.

 _I really didn’t clean out his play pen very well, did I? That’s disappointing…_ I think as we pass by this deathly silent lot. A few spit at me, which makes me chuckle and I blow kisses to a couple of the really crusty ones.

They give me the “you’re dead” gesture.

Good. Let them try.

I’ll break them like I broke their buddies.

I’m doing fine, the cocky little max princess, sure that if I had to, I’d kill these assholes just like I killed their coworkers. I’m doing fine…until we’re passing a dark cell that I think is empty. And before I or the warden can even react, a slender hand stretches through the bars and my hair is suddenly being gripped in bone white fingers.

The inmate, one of Captain America’s greatest enemies, hisses as she hauls me bodily against the titanium enriched bars of her door. “I heard your parents are dead Stark,” Viper whispers in my ear and I swear to God her tongue darts into my ear canal. I hiss back and try to twist free of her fingers. Which only causes her hand to tighten further in my hair.

She continues with a soft laugh, “I heard Stane finally got them and made them pay for all of the blood you spilled. I heard he slaughtered them just like you slaughtered his men. That must really… _suck_.”

She has me so tight against the bars my ribs are bruised and I know, I know if I don’t act fast, she’ll break my neck. But I’m frozen. And all I hear is her voice whispering in my ear.

_I heard your parents are dead Stark._

Viper is laughing and one hand begins to trail along my jawline in a gentle caress. I know this move. She’s going to break my neck.

She’s really going to do it.

But I can’t fucking move.

All I hear is her voice hissing as her tongue swirls in my ear, _I heard Stane finally got them…_

 _It can’t be. I killed him_ , I manage to think coherently before red films my eyes and my mind goes blank.

The warden tries desperately to disentangle me from her grip but I wrench my head around and my teeth are tearing into her wrist where it rests at my cheek; her fingers are still twisted against my scalp and my neck.

She screams and the warden’s arms are tight on my waist as he begins hauling me away, shouting for me to stop, shouting for the guards, shouting shouting shouting

Everywhere is chaos as Viper and I grapple with each other, my teeth buried in the meat of her arm and her nails digging into my hair and under my jaw.

“You crazy bitch!” she shrieks over and over as she pushes against me and oh God if I wasn’t shackled she’d be dead already. “I hope Stane kills you himself!” she hisses, her face inches from my own and her eyes are mad with pain and anger.

I grind my jaws and she shrieks in agony, her forehead connecting with the bars of her cell-door with a sickening thud and the warden has me by the collar.

_Fuck._

I lock my teeth.

And almost start laughing when I realize Viper is bleeding.

I can taste the bright copper taste of her blood washing over my tongue and I almost gag; despite the excitement I feel at finally getting a chance to hurt one of my family’s enemies, even I am not deranged enough to enjoy this.

_But she said…_

_No._

The warden actually levers my jaw open, like a dog owner would do with a stubborn Labrador refusing to drop his tennis ball and my teeth tear free of her arm; her screams are enough to make my blood boil and I wish I could really do some damage to her scarred face. I wish the warden would fucking let me go.

But he doesn’t. He hauls me into his arms, his voice harsh as he shouts my name, telling me to calm the fuck down and I am thrashing, screaming incoherently in her face, my hair wild, my eyes crazed and murder in my veins.

I want to kill her.

I _have_ to kill her.

She said…

_NO._

“Fuck you Viper!” I scream, blood dribbling down my chin to pool in my collar bones, to run over the faded feathers etched along my bones. “Fuck you! You don’t know anything!”

But she’s laughing and she said.

“NO!” I scream and the guards are trying to contain me but I’m wild, insane with her words, with her blood in my mouth and there is nothing they can do.

Except…

“Say hello to the Captain for me, Princess Stark!” I hear her snarl as the warden’s arm rises, armed with his nightstick and I crumple to the ground the moment the heavy baton connects with my temple.

Her laughing, scarred, face is the last thing I see.

And her words are the last thing I hear.

_I heard your parents are dead Stark. I heard Stane finally got them…_

_Please…_

_no_

**

There are voices speaking just beyond my consciousness and I cannot fucking figure them out.

Fuck…

My head feels like it got stepped on by the Hulk.

_“…She is a wild card Steve Rogers. We do not know what Jacqueline Stark is capable of…”_

_“Ta-Challa’s right Captain, Stark’s daughter is insane. You know this better than anyone…”_

_“Stop. She’s not insane. And she’s the only chance we have at understanding Tony’s tech.”_

_“You know I want to help her Steve, but she’s not sane, she’s not safe. Ask Teddy, she went wild in Rykers-“_

_“Viper was there, Reed. Teddy said she was provo-“_

_“Enough. There is enough theorizing occurring as is. Stephen Strange and I do not believe the child is insane per se but we must tread carefully…”_

The voices continue buzzing and I lose the ability to track each one; they all seem to be arguing with each other, loudly, and they are not helping my pounding head.

But none of this explains…

_Why are they here? And where exactly is here? And what…what do they mean to do with me?_

I start to panic a little bit, certain that this is just a horrible nightmare…

But then a new voice speaks up and I think my blood turns to ice, even as I pick up the remainders of my consciousness.

_“Stand back Captain. The child stirs. We will take control of her from here on-in. Wait by the door, should we need you.”_

_“All right Stephen. Be careful with her please…She’s still Tony’s daughter. Treat her as such.”_

_“Of course Captain. We will be as careful as she allows us to be.”_

_Oh no…_

“Ugh,” I croak, my voice as ragged as sandpaper and I try to open my eyes. I groan and gag when my vision lurches sickeningly and I feel my body start to list sideways in the chair I’m bound too.

 _They bound me to a goddamn chair._ _Figures._ _Nothing like family, right?_

“Ugh, ‘ere ‘m I?” I’m able to mumble and I really am listing now, my ass sliding out from under me and the only thing keeping me upright is the adamantium at my arms and ankles. “Steve…”

I know he’s here. I can fucking smell him.

Leather and after-shave and _old_.

Steve Rogers always smelled old, even when I was little. It’s not a bad smell. Just… Steve’s smell, like an old book and loose tobacco. A smell that belongs in the last century.

“Fuck,” I groan and I run my tongue over my dry, cracked lips, desperate for some moisture.  Desperate to feel something other than pain.

I manage to unstick my eyes without feeling like they’re going to melt out of the sockets and I’m finally able to see where they’ve stuck me this time.

And it sure as hell isn’t Rykers.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” I whisper and I begin to shake my head quickly back-and-forth, my hair falling in my eyes.

Which really doesn’t help my tracking.

My vision is spinning sickeningly, bringing to mind the first time Dad took me on the teacup ride in Disneyland and I vomited on Mom’s favorite sundress.

I feel like I’m going to get sick again…

“Take me back, take me back,” I whimper and I’m struggling with the shackles and I’m panicking and I am not at Rykers.

_I’m at the Dream House.  I’m in fucking Malibu._

_Oh God, no…_

“No no no no no…” I whisper over and over and it takes me a moment to realize there are several people watching me from the shadows filling my father’s rarely used study.

And there is nothing but cold calculation in their eyes.

“Jacqueline Skye Stark you are brought before this council to be judged. When we have determined whether or not you are mentally stable enough to be trusted, we will decide then what to do with you. Is this understood Miss Stark?”

_Is this understood?_

_Is. This. Understood._

Oh yes it’s understood. I’m being tested. And if I fail…

We all know how this particular game ends up.

“Strange, what are you doing in my father’s house?” I snarl through clenched jaws and finally my mind is back on track and I am thinking straight.

I have to.

 _He's_ here.

“Better yet,” I hiss as I haul myself upright and toss my hair out of my eyes so that I can better see the silhouettes of my accusers. “What is the Illuminati doing in my father’s house? Hm? Let me go you bastards.”

And Stephen Strange steps out of the shadows, the whisper of his long cloak against the hardwood floors of the study the only noise in this dusty space.

“Miss Stark, you will keep a civil tongue and you will heed us,” he says and his gray eyes are cold in the dim light. I suddenly remember the last time I saw him.

Five years ago.

In the hospital and I was nothing but a pile of twisted metal and broken bones. I still had Stane’s blood in my hair, on my hands, on every inch of my body. I can still hear his voice in my head, can still see those gray eyes, wild with power searching my mind…

For sanity.

Which he didn’t find.

I can hear him whispering, even now, calling me a murderer.

_Looks like Strange still thinks that. And he’d know, wouldn’t he?_

The great and powerful sorcerer.

He’s probably reading my mind at this very moment.

Fuck him.

I’ll give him a special viewing…

“And if I don’t?” I snarl after a brief moment, bold despite his presence and those at his back. “Hm? What’re you going to do to me Strange? Kill me?”

And I start to laugh.

It’s ridiculous to laugh in his face of course, but I have nothing to lose. And honestly, why should I be afraid of these freaks?

Dad never was.

And dying doesn’t scare me. Living scares me.

Living with my ghosts.

And these people, with their self-righteous morals and masks and suits of armor.

Strange folds his hands in the wide sleeves of his cloak and lets me have my laugh.

When I finally slump in my chains, my chest heaving with barely controlled panic at the thought of sitting face-to-face with this man once more, he kneels before me. I’m amazed to discover his eyes are not so pitiless now. They’re almost…

Loving.

“Jacqui,” he says, his voice gentle, “take a deep breath. You’re hysterical.”

I shake my head and pant. “No,” I whisper, tears standing in my eyes and I close them in exhaustion. My head won’t stop pounding and he’s just making it worse. “Just get it over with Strange. Just do it. You’ve been waiting for five years. Just do it. Kill me.”

But he doesn’t. Instead he sighs and stretches one finger in my direction and I know where this is going.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss and I’m rocking back in my chair, desperately trying to get away from Stephen Strange and his crazy magic. The last time he did this, I ended up in Rykers in nothing but a straightjacket and adamantium shackles.

Strange frowns and glances at something over my shoulder; before I can react, heavy hands settle on my shoulder and a very familiar voice is saying my name.

“Jacqui, it’s all right. He’s not going to hurt you, he’s just testing you. Let him, please.”

“Steve,” I whisper, those damn tears suddenly threatening to fall, and I’m so shocked that he is here, really here, with his hands on my shoulders that I almost miss Strange pressing his finger to the middle of my forehead.

I don’t miss what happens next though.

How could anyone not notice their mind exploding into jagged slivers of glass?

How could anyone miss Doctor Strange whispering in the back of your mind, _Show me your thoughts child. Show me what I must see._

And God help me, I show him everything.

Again.

And in return he shows me what has forced them to free me from my life-sentence.

The images flash by in quick succession, most of them from second-hand sources. News channels, security cameras, Strange himself on the astral plane.

Grainy, gritty images, colored with Strange’s thoughts and personality.

But it is enough…

It’s the first I’ve seen of them in five, very long, years.

My parents. Tony Stark, egotistical superhero and resilient businessman. And Virginia “Pepper” Potts-Stark, retired superhero and savvy CEO.

_They were on their way to New York for a ground-breaking ceremony._

_A new Stark wing of a Harlem hospital._

_I watch as the Mayor shakes hands with my father, far grayer than the last time I saw him._

_My heart stammers at the sight of my mother standing straight and proud at his side, her long red hair blowing in the wind. She hasn’t changed at all, in the past five years. If anything…she’s taller._

_Their arc reactors, one blue, the other gold, glow happily from under blouse and tie._

_Their hands grip each other’s tightly._

_Then it’s much later and I wonder if they’re having one of their galas they tend to throw whenever they’re in the City; that would explain Mom’s dinner dress and Dad’s Armani suit jacket she has draped over her arm._

_It doesn’t explain why they are on the roof of the Tower, the Avengers Tower, and he is in his Suit though._

_Iron Man and his Lois Lane._

_They are staring at each other, the Iron Man helmet lowered towards Mom and his hand is at his ear._

_Listening to…something._

_Mom is worried; she keeps pushing him towards the edge of the roof, as if telling him to go, to hurry!_

_But he doesn’t._

_Suddenly there is an explosion and the Tower rooftop erupts in shattered cement and liquid fire. Through the smoke I can just make out a gold and scarlet blur grappling with something shadowy and massive and it seems…_

_It seems a slender figure dressed in a lovely white Chanel dress is fighting as well, her red hair streaming behind her as she fights to save her hero._

_But it’s too hard to tell. There’s nothing but fire and that massive shadow._

_And as the dust and fire clears…_

_My parents have vanished._

_The only thing that remains…_

_One of my mother’s red heels._

_And an Armani dinner jacket with a tiny pin my father wore on every suit lapel after receiving it one night, twenty three years ago._

World’s Greatest Dad! _it reads and my heart freezes._

He still wears it…

Viper was right.

“Stane’s alive and he has my parents,” I whisper and there is blood streaming from my nose and ears from the magic Strange is using against me and I am sagging in my bonds, all of my strength gone; he has laid me bare and broken me beyond repair.

But I do not notice.

All I notice are Stephen Strange’s gray eyes, wild with power as he scrolls through my mind, searching for…

Sanity.

And he nods.

“Yes Jacqueline Stark,” he whispers. “They’re gone…”

And I fade into darkness once more…

 _I am sorry_ , Doctor Strange whispers as he withdraws from my gray matter. _Will you help us find them?_

I think I answer him…

Because all that is left of my parents are a red shoe and a pin my chubby toddler fingers first pinned to my father’s lapel twenty-three years ago.

_Yes._


	3. Chapter 3

“Daddy?” I ask from the doorway of his workshop one night when he’s finally home from the Helicarrier.

I’m four years old and wearing one of the Iron Man shirts Mommy refuses to admit she still keeps around. They’re from his “glory days,” whatever those are. I wonder if seeing me wearing it will make him laugh. I hope so.

“Mmhm Jack, what’s up?” He glances up from a Rescue wiring harness he’s working on and smiles.

Daddy’s smiles are always the best part about him.

I smile back and ease into the workshop, my bare feet making no sound on the cool floor, and he leans back in his chair with a chuckle. He’s listening to one of the old bands he loves but that Mommy hates.

I love that about his workshop; he gets to do things in here that Mommy doesn’t like and he doesn’t have to go into a timeout.

Finally I’m standing next to him, my head barely reaching the workbench surface and he’s leaning down towards me so he can braid a few strands of my hair. I giggle and blurt, “Are you and Mommy going to live forever like Uncle Steve and Uncle Bucky?”

A chuckle and then his arms are around me and I am being tossed in the air, squealing. “You betcha Jack!” he says, his blue eyes, just like mine, sparkling in the faint light spilling from the circle in his chest. “Your Mom and I are the greatest superheroes in the world and we’ll live forever!”

Daddy catches me in his solid arms and cuddles me close. His goatee scratches my forehead as he kisses me but it’s okay. He hasn’t hugged me for days. He’s been gone, off doing superhero things with my uncles and aunts. Mommy and I have eaten dinner by ourselves every night for the past week.

I’ve heard her laughing on the phone at night though, so we haven’t been entirely alone. He never forgets to call to sing me to sleep and to talk to Mommy about his day.

Mommy says he’s learned his lesson finally.

It must have been a really important lesson.

My cheek presses against the blue circle in his chest and I run my fingers over its glowing surface. “Daddy?”

He’s working again on Mommy’s suit, even though she doesn’t wear it that much anymore, but he stops and looks down at me again. “Yeah sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“I have something for you,” I say with a small smile. My hand is tight around my present that I’ve been bursting for days to give to him.

“Oh?” he says, his blue eyes sparkling in the light spilling free of the blue circle in his chest.

I nod and hold my chubby little hand up. “I found it at school,” I say, so proud of myself and his eyebrow rises as he spreads my fingers. There’s a flash of gold and he starts to laugh.

“Well I’ll be damned. Jack this is-you found this?” he asks and he’s still laughing, his eyes all crinkled up and his chest rumbling against my back.

I smile a little uncertainly and nod. “Yeah Daddy. It says ‘W-world’s g-gree-ah…”

I trail off and sigh in frustration. He smiles and kisses my temple. “It says ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ Jacqui. You’re doing really well with your words.”

“No I’m not Daddy. JARVIS told me you were reading when you were as old as me,” I mutter and he snorts.

“JARVIS is old and grumpy baby. I think I’ll just take him offline and make a new computer, one that sings Aerosmith when Mommy’s in the shower and lets me make you pancakes at midnight. Sounds pretty great, right?” He smiles and kisses me. “All right, pin that little doo-dad on baby and let’s get you to bed okay?”

I smile and giggle before twisting in his arms so I can reach the collar of his shirt; he’s in a sleeveless t-shirt and he’s covered in grease. Mommy would not be happy if she could see him. I manage to pin my present in place, my tongue caught between my teeth in concentration and I lean back to study my handiwork. It’s crooked and I might have made a hole in his shirt.

But Daddy doesn’t mind. He just pats it and nods. “Perfect. All right, hold on for a second. I have to finish this before I forget what I’m doing.”

He’s quiet then, his arms stretched to either side of me as he fiddles with Mommy’s suit and I watch curiously as he finishes his wiring.

His blue circle is warm at my cheek and I twist my head so I can study its soft blue interior.

Then, before I can stop myself, I’m saying, “Daddy?”

I freeze, suddenly scared of the question I’m going to ask, but he stops what he’s doing and his hand comes around my chin so he can force me to look at him. I smile shakily as his callused fingers stroke my cheeks and he smiles back.

“What’s wrong Jack?” he asks gently, patient even though I know he’s busy and really doesn’t have time to sit with me like this, Mommy’s suit in pieces before him.

My Daddy is a very important man who is in charge of a lot of important things and I shouldn’t bother him.

Which makes being held like this all the more precious.

“Will I get one of these? Like you and Mommy, when I grow up?” I ask, my nails making little plinking noises against the circle in his chest.

He stiffens, his arms tightening painfully around me and I wince. Suddenly Daddy does not look happy.

Daddy looks…angry.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whimper and I begin to twist in his arms, striving to slip free of him and run away before I make him even angrier. “I’m sorry, I take it back!”

“ _Jacqueline_!”

His voice is sharp and his arms are far too tight around me and I am stuck in his lap.

Tears swim in my eyes and I wish Mommy was here or Uncle Steve or Uncle Jim. I don’t like it when Daddy is mad. When Daddy is mad his voice sounds like a snarl and his face turns into a metal scowl.

And then he flies away to “have words” with that Maria woman.

When Daddy “has words” we don’t see him for weeks.

And Uncle Steve gets really quiet and doesn’t stop by for dinner and Uncle Rhodey doesn’t let me play with Sammy.

And Mommy cries when she thinks I’m in bed.

“Jacqueline,” he says again as I start to cry in earnest. “Listen to me.”

“No,” I wail. “I’m sorry Daddy! Please don’t fly away!”

I’m glued to his chest now, my face pressed to the circle of light and I imagine that nothing, nothing will be able to take me away from him. He’s my Daddy and I’m his baby and nothing will ever happen to us.

“Jacqueline,” he sighs and he doesn’t sound angry anymore. He just sounds tired. Like he’s been flying for far too long in his suit. “Jacqui, baby, look at me. Stop crying, sweetie. It’s all right, just listen.”

I’m sniffling, the front of my shirt soaked and his as well but I don’t think he minds. “I’m sorry Daddy,” I whisper. “I’m sorry…”

His lips press into my hair and he sighs again. “Oh baby,” he says as he wraps me tighter in his arms and cradles me under his chin. “You don’t have to be. You just scared me.”

I frown and run my fingers over his bristly chin. “You don’t get scared Daddy!” I say, absolutely confused at his words. “You’re Iron Man!”

He makes a snorting sound, the sound he makes when Mommy is being “melodramatic” or when Uncle Steve is being too “patriotic” or when Uncle Jim brings his silver suit in and says it broke during a “training exercise.”

It’s a funny snort and I smile in response, my tears drying on my cheeks.

“I’m always scared, sweetie,” he says, his mouth downturned in a sad look. “It’s part of my job.”

“Your job?” I ask and I struggle to fight off a yawn. He smiles at the sight of my eyes scrunching and my nose wiggling and he kisses my forehead.

“You’re my job Jack,” he says as he stands, my body cradled in his arms, my head snug under his chin. “You and Mommy are my job and sometimes you two girls scare the living daylights out of me.”

I smile sleepily in his arms, the soft rocking of his walking lulling me into a doze. But I’m not entirely ready for bed yet. “Why?” I ask through another yawn.

We’re making our way through the living room now and his bare feet make slapping noises on the hardwood; I wonder if Mommy will hear him. She thinks I’m in bed…

He’s quiet for a moment and I think he might not answer my question, but as he enters my bedroom and asks JARVIS to turn on the lights so he can make his way through the toys scattered all over the floor to my bed, he does.

“Because I don’t want to screw this up, baby,” he says softly as he tucks me under the covers and kneels at the side of the bed.

He’s eye level now and I can see the worry in his gaze. I smile sleepily and stretch out a hand to stroke his cheek and then the pin I found just for him; it glitters against the blue circle and I can’t help smiling because he’s really wearing it. “You won’t Daddy,” I say, absolutely dead certain that I’m right. “You’re Iron Man.”

That funny snort again and he catches my hand so he can press a kiss to my palm. “Yeah,” he scoffs, his whiskers rough on my hand. “I am. That’s what scares me.”

Then he’s standing and tucking my Captain America action figure under the blankets with me and he smiles. “Goodnight Jacqueline,” he says. “Go to sleep now, you hear? Mommy is going to have our hides if she finds us up and awake still, okay?”

“Okay Daddy,” I murmur, my eyes already drooping and he chuckles.

“I love you sweetheart,” he whispers as he bends over to kiss me once more. “Thank you for my present.”

“You’re welcome,” I whisper back. “Love you Daddy.”

“Thanks baby.”

One of the last things I see before I fall asleep is him making his way to the open door where Mommy leans, her long red hair in a messy knot at the top of her head and her glasses pushed up onto her forehead. There’s a soft golden glow spilling from the circle in her chest and that’s when I realize Daddy didn’t answer my question about those circles.

But I’m too tired to ask again.

I’ll ask my uncles tomorrow. Or Aunt Carol.

Maybe they’ll tell me…

Mommy looks as tired as Daddy but she’s still the prettiest girl we know, as Daddy says every morning when he kisses her good morning.

He kisses her now and I hear her whisper, “ _What was that all about Tony?_ ”

He glances at me over his shoulder as he requests the lights to dim and sighs, “ _She asked about the arc reactors Pep. She wanted to know when she gets to have one._ ”

Mommy looks scared for a moment and I frown, even as my eyelids droop a little lower.

“ _What did you tell her?_ ” Mommy asks and her hand rises to rest on her golden light. It almost looks as if she wishes she could rip it free but I know she can’t do that.

If she or Daddy remove their lights they’ll die.

I know that much at least.

I’ve nearly seen it happen a couple times now.

Daddy wraps his arm around her waist and begins to close my bedroom door. “ _Don’t worry about it Pep. I won’t tell her yet. She won’t understand anyway, what these things mean. Hopefully she won’t ever have to…_ ”

I wish I could hear them. I wish I could stay awake.

But it’s late and I’m only four and some things are not meant for tired four year-olds.

**

I snap awake the moment the door closes in my dream and for a moment I think I am once more four years old and my parents are just outside of my room, whispering to each other, their arc reactors lighting their way in our dark house.

But that’s ridiculous.

My parents are gone, under the control of a madman I thought I killed five years ago and I’m here, cold and alone, twisted into my sheets, trying to keep calm.

A faint sheen of sweat covers my skin and I realize my prison clothes are gone; I’m now in a t-shirt and shorts and the blood has been scrubbed from my skin. My hair is damp and tightly bound in a French braid, so they must have washed it before putting me to bed.

There was a lot of blood; I can still feel it pouring from my nose, from my ears and I remember the feel of Viper’s pooling in my collar bones, running over the feathers tattooed along my bones to trail between my breasts.

I shudder which sends my skin into spasms and goosebumps and my head pounds insistently.

Did Strange give me a concussion?

He did last time.

 _Magic_ , I growl to myself and my fingers curl into the sheets, grounding me.

I’m still gasping for air, still trying to right things in my mind-there’s a lot of conflicting imagery going on up there. A lot of words being said and it’s fucking driving me insane.

So I focus on my surroundings. I take things one step at a time. No sense in pushing myself over the edge again.

_Focus…calm…breathe…_

Finally…the panic eases and I am actually able to think clearly.

I’m in my old room, or at least the Malibu version of my old room and it looks like nothing has changed. It’s exactly the same as it was in the dream.

Or memory.

Or whatever the fuck _that_ was.

 _You just scared Daddy_ , he whispers in my mind once more, his blue eyes sad and his arc reactor a ghostly memory under my cheek.

 _But you don’t get scared…you’re Iron Man!_ I said and the stupid innocence of those words makes me gag. _You’re Iron Man…_

_Yeah…and isn’t that just where all of our problems came from?_

“Oh God,” I choke out as I clap the heels of my hands over my eyes and take a couple of deep breaths. I want to escape that memory, to forget it ever happened. To forget Dad’s arms around me and his arc reactor glowing happily under my cheek.

I haven’t been that little girl for a very long time. There’s no sense in digging her up now.

So I put her away and I focus on the present. Or I try to at least.

My head feels like it’s been slammed repeatedly against the cement floor of Dad’s workshop and my lungs are aching.

As if I’ve been screaming and drowning.

Drowning in memories…

_But you don’t get scared…you’re Iron Man!_

“Here,” says a gentle voice to my right and I jerk upright, a little scream slipping past my lips as I realize I’m not alone in this dark tomb of my childhood room. I scramble backwards across my bed, my feet scrabbling in the twisted sheets and for a moment I’m certain it’s him.

Ezekiel Stane.

_I killed you, I killed you. I watched your blood pooling in my fingers. Oh God…_

And then the panels are fading from my windows and bright sunlight spills into the room and I am met with the ice-blue eyes of my father’s fellow Avenger.  He was practically my uncle, growing up.

He was one of my guardians, one of the few people who supported me as a child.

Before Stane destroyed my life.

“Steve! What-what are you doing here?” I gasp, my body slumping in relief as Steve Rogers meets my panicked gaze; he’s sitting beside my bed, his hand suspended over my twisted sheets, holding a glass of water and his eyes are just as blue as I remember them being.

Just as worried.

I suddenly yearn to be wrapped in his arms, to be told everything is going to be all right, that we’re going to get my parents back.

That he will take care of everything.

Just like old times.

His lips lift in a small smile but his eyes are calculating, like he is testing me and his close consideration makes my skin crawl even more insistently.

“Hello Jacqui,” he says, his deep voice as mild as always. “How are you?”

_How am I?_

_What a joke…_

“Go away,” I snap, suddenly furious that he’s here with me, that he’s witnessing my panic. I don’t want him to sit with me. I’m not his “niece” anymore. I’m a criminal. I’m the crazy daughter of Tony Stark.

I don’t deserve anyone’s love.

And I don’t deserve him.

He simply thrusts the water glass into my hands and says, “No.”

His eyes are challenging now, daring me to do something stupid and I wonder if I should. But then my hands are closing around the smooth glass and he is standing, a wry smile on his lips.

“When you’re ready, we’re in the kitchen discussing logistics. We could use your assistance Jacqui,” he says before leaving my room, his back straight and proud.

He doesn’t look at me as he closes the door behind him.

And I’m left wondering who’s “we” and why they need me.

If it’s true…

If Stane is still alive ( _Impossible,_ I hiss to myself. _I crushed his skull…_ ) and he really does have my parents, why do they need me?

They’re heroes for God’s sake. This is their job, their soul-purpose in life is saving people, in fighting the bad guys.

And I’m just...Tony Stark’s criminal daughter.

Suddenly, half-heard words weave their way once more through my mind and I know now why they need me.

 _She’s the only chance we have at understanding Tony’s tech_ , Steve Rogers said over my head as I struggled to regain consciousness.

And he was right there wasn’t he? In that study, with the Illuminati, listening to them say I may be insane.

I stare at the door for a brief moment and then start to laugh.

They don’t need _me_ , personally.

They need my genes and my genius.

Perfect.

I throw the glass across the room where it shatters against the door in a crystalline splash of water and shards of broken glass and I let out a frustrated scream before throwing myself in the direction of my closet.

 _Fuck you all_ , I think to myself as the closet light clicks on and I am greeted by rows upon rows of clothes that look like they might be left over from my early college years.

And then my eyes settle on a nondescript black carry-on bag sitting in the shadows of the top shelf and my lips lift in a sneer.

_Time to go._

**

When I step out of the closet twenty minutes later, dressed to the nines in what Dad would call redneck clothes (he never did understand flannel shirts and raggedy jeans) I am calm.

Collected.

_Sure._

Until that is, my foot connects with a tiny bot who hums angrily and proceeds to run over my bare toes.

I hiss and curse the little monster out, which only flusters the machine further. But my curiosity gets the better of me and I smile as I kneel before the little robot.

“Hello,” I say as I stretch out one finger to stroke the claw stretched towards me. Interestingly enough, it’s bearing another water glass, this one mostly full and the veritable twin of the one I threw across the room. “What is your call-sign?”

It considers me for a moment and JARVIS speaks for the first time since I’ve arrived.

“This is Icarus, Miss Stark,” he says and my smile grows at the slightly weary tone in the AI’s voice. “He is a sweeper bot, devoted to cleaning and tidying the living quarters of the Dream House’s residents.”

“Ah,” I murmur as the bot thrusts the glass into my hands. I glance towards the door and sure enough there is no trace of the broken glass. “Icarus.”

“Indeed miss. I believe he is one of your-“

“Designs, yes,” I mutter and I stand, my jaw clenched and my skin tight. “Thank you JARVIS.” I watch as the mobile arm folds into the bot, to meld perfectly with his outer shell and I shiver.

Dad used my designs after all…

“Good boy,” I whisper and my fingers trail over the little bot’s exo-skeleton; he lets out a soft rumble of a purr and I almost laugh.

Dad always did have a way with the robots he put his hands too.

They were almost…human.

“Keep up the good work Icky,” I mutter as I step around him, his glass of water dangling loosely between thumb and forefinger of my left hand, and my boots from my right hand.

I’ll put them on when I’m clear of the house.

I hesitate, my hand resting on the cool wood of my door and I listen for any sign of a guard outside of my room. But there’s no sound and glancing at the panel just to side of the door-frame I see they haven’t even bothered to lock me in.

They must be pretty confident with Doctor Strange’s assessment of my mental stability.

_Do they honestly think I’ll help them?_

_Do they think I’ll forget what they said to me five years ago?_

_Ridiculous._

I take a deep breath, letting my anger and worry go, and then I open the door and ease silently into the hallway of the residential quarters of the Malibu house.

It’s silent, still, but I know my parent’s friends are here. Steve said they were in the kitchen, discussing strategy. I don’t know how many of them are here or who exactly they are (if Xavier was in the study then there may be more mutants around. I’ll have to be fast then) but since I’m on the opposite end from the kitchen, making a break should be relatively easy.

I’ll go through Dad’s workshop, hack JARVIS and take one of the cars. Something basic.

Mom’s silver Audi will be perfect…If it’s even here.

I shake my head and ease forward, quickly and quietly. I can’t worry about what may or may not have changed while I’ve been locked away. I just have to get out. And I’ll use one of Dad’s sports cars if I have too.

He always did say I’d get my pick once I grew up.

I’d say this qualifies.

I force myself to strategize as I ease through the living room, using the furniture and architecture of the place to muffle my passage and I keep an eye on the hallway leading towards the kitchen.

If I have time I may be able to knock out the tracking in the car, that way Steve and the others can’t follow. There’s still Strange to worry about, of course. He’s had access to my mind twice now. Full control of my thoughts. He’ll be able to access me far too easily for comfort.

But that won’t stop me.

I’ll run to Canada. Disappear into the mountains, like Bruce used to do when things go a little too hot for the Hulk. And then I’ll work on finding my parents on my own. I won’t…

I can’t work with Captain America and the Avengers. I can’t work with heroes, not when I’m exactly what they’ve worked so hard to control and lock away.

I’m almost to the hidden stairway leading to Dad’s basement hideaway when something catches my attention.

Something… _bad_.

I freeze and my head turns slowly towards the kitchen, my mind already working on analyzing the faint hum of data I’ve caught drifting from the distant doorway and I have to work hard on not panicking.

 _How…what the_ hell _?!_

Before I even know what I’m doing I’m rushing across the house, my running away completely forgotten and my feet are sliding on the slick hardwood, boots and glass still clasped in my hands and everywhere is that familiar scream of data.

It’s writhing through my brain, piercing through the tissues of my very body and I cannot stop hearing it.

 _Oh God no_ , I think, white, hot panic once more rushing through my body and I cannot stop seeing Dad’s face bowed towards Mom, his hand at his ear as if listening to…

_Please, please let it not be this. Please God, let this not be my fault…_

And still that scream and whine of data rocking through the house and I know…I know what it is but I can’t…

_It can’t be…_

“What is that?!” I gasp in the doorway of the kitchen and I barely notice the five heroes sitting around the holo-deck watching wavelengths dance and plunge with each pitch of data and it’s Carol Danvers who speaks first, her blue eyes sad as she turns to me.

“It’s a distress signal. It’s _the_ distress signal, the one that Tony caught the night he and Pepper disappeared.”

The sound of the glass Icarus the sweeper-bot gave me as it shatters to the floor beneath my bare feet is so loud it actually drowns out the chirping distress signal they keep playing back on the holo-deck.

But I can still hear it.

I’ll always hear it.

It’s the Bluebird suit’s S.O.S.

It’s _mine_.

 _No_ , my mind screams over and over.   _Not that._


	4. Chapter 4

There is blood pooling on the cool slate tiles of the Malibu house’s kitchen but I don’t notice. I don’t feel the grind and pinch of fine cut crystal digging into the soles of my feet. Nor do I hear my parent’s friends telling me to sit so they can tend to my injuries.

I don’t hear or feel any of it.

All I see is the wave and dance of the Bluebird’s S.O.S. dancing across the holo-deck’s screen. And all I hear is the familiar scream of my modified suit’s distress signal.

 _So that’s how he did it_ , I think wildly as my fingers rise to stroke the blue waves. T _hat’s how he got Dad suited and on the roof. They thought it was_ me.

_Were they hoping it was me?_

The thought slips past my barriers before I can stop it and I think of the desperation on Mom’s face as she pushed Dad towards the edge of the roof. I think of the worry on her face, the panic in her eyes. And his hesitation.

 _Stop it Jacqui,_ I snap to myself as I shut the holo-deck down. _Stop it right now. They locked you away. They saw the blood on your hands. They saw it better than anyone. Just…_ stop.

“It’s one of the armory’s distress calls,” I say and my voice carries over the chattering superhero’s. They all turn to me, shocked and Steve’s eyes flutter closed at my words.

“Whose?” he asks, ever the most practical of the lot. I think he knows though, he’s just waiting to see if I’ll tell.

I don’t.

“Not sure,” I say, my voice indifferent and I turn to leave the kitchen.

“Jacqui!” Carol shouts but I don’t pause. I have to get to the workshop. I have to make sure I’m right.

I push my way through the gathered superheroes and none of them try to stop me. Most shrink from me actually, as if crazy murderer is catching.

Maybe it is.

Steve follows me though, his blue eyes heavy on my back and I should tell him to leave.

Should tell him I’m all right.

But I’m not.

And he won’t.

“Jacqueline,” he says, his voice gentle. “You’re bleeding.”

I am but it’s not like I’ve never bled before. Not like I haven’t lost most of my blood at the hands of a madman. Perspective, I’ve found, can change quite a bit when you’ve almost died.

“Why did you bring me here Steve?” I ask as I near the hidden stairway leading to Dad’s workshop and the Malibu armory. “Why _here_ of all places?”

The last time I was here, in this house…

Sam Rhodes was alive.

And then he was dead.

“Actually,” I snap as I turn to face him, my hands clenched at my sides. “Why bring me _anywhere_ at all? Surely you don’t need me! You don’t need me to find my parents. You all are made for this sort of thing. Search and rescue.” I wave my hand and my jaw tightens with disdain. I can see his team standing in the doorway of the living room, a motley crew of heroes I haven’t seen for years and they have nothing but fear and judgment in their eyes. I snort. “Hmm? You going to answer me Cap? Why am I here?”

He hesitates, just slightly and then he says the only words that can possibly damn me.

“Tony was going to let you go, Jacqui. He was going to have you set free.”

I stare at him for just a moment and then I turn and run down the twisted cement stairs leading to Dad’s workshop and I leave nothing but blood on the steps.

Steve doesn’t follow me.

**

“Let’s do it again JARVIS, just to be sure,” I’m saying, an hour after my mini confrontation with Captain America. I’m sitting at Dad’s desk, surrounded by screens and images and data and the only noise in the cavernous workshop is the whir of the resident bots and the soft drip of blood from my toes.

I don’t notice either.

My mind is consumed…

Consumed with the Bluebird’s distress signal.

And the patched up crater in the center of the workshop floor.

Dad had the hole filled in.

And then he locked me up.

_Tony was going to let you go Jacqui. He was going to set you free._

_Why?_

My fingers dance over the nearest screen, the one showing me the cross references of armory distress calls and within seconds the space is filled with the chirp and chatter of Dad’s Iron Man distress call. I stare at the dancing lines for a moment, thinking…

Thinking of what it would be like to hear this signal after years of silence.

No wonder he got suited up and ran to the roof. He thought it was me, he thought I was in trouble.

I would have done it too, if the roles had been reversed.

“That’s fine J,” I mutter and my fingers slide a bit on the screen to the waiting calls JARVIS has queued up for me. There are three.

Each as painful as the next.

“Let’s do the Rescue one again, just to be sure,” I whisper, my eyes locked on Mom’s suit systematics at the base of the screen. The Rescue suit was almost identical to the Bluebird. I’d done that on purpose of course. Just another level of my disguise.

I’d thought I was being clever.

Such a waste.

“Of course Miss Stark,” JARVIS says and then it’s Mom’s suit’s turn. It’s not right either and I know that but I have to listen to it just one more time. I have to hear Mom’s voice, even if it’s not really hers; it’s just the whine of data, but it’s her suit and so...

 _God Mom, I’m sorry,_ I think and my mind is back on that roof, back to watching her pushing Dad towards the sky, her face worried and her hands frantic.

_What did she think when Dad picked up my distress call? Did she hope it was me?_

_Did she…did she want it to be me?_

JARVIS cuts the signal off without my asking and I jump, my body lurching in my chair as I am once more brought back to reality; my vision is blurry and it takes me a moment to realize I’m crying.

“Miss Stark, are you well?” the AI asks and I start laughing.

“No J,” I gasp. “No, I’m really not.” I take a deep breath and bury my face in my hands. “No I am not well.”

It’s quiet for a moment, just the hum of bots and the soft drip of blood on cement. I know I should go back upstairs and have someone work on my feet but I can’t face them.

Not yet.

“J?” I mutter after a moment of this silence. “Who’s in the house exactly? I saw the Captain, and Major Danvers is here as well but who else?”

He’s quiet for a moment and I glance to my right where the security footage of the house is rolling and I frown.

There are too many people here; if I were Tony Stark I’d be able to kick them out.

But I’m not Tony Stark and besides Steve wouldn’t like it if I tried.

“Miss, the Captain and the Major are here as well as one of the Young Avengers. Hulkling I believe. Luke Cage was in attendance but he has recently left the premises. So the only remaining Avenger is-“

“That’s fine J,” I snap, my eyes locked on the person standing on the balcony, overlooking the cliff-face the house stands on.

His hair is more gray than I remember it being and he’s thinner than he was five years ago but it’s still…

 _No_ , I hiss to myself, my eyes fluttering closed as I turn away from the screen. _Stop_.

I’m not…I’m not ready to face him.

“Let’s get back to work J,” I mutter and I close the security footage with a quick swipe of my finger. I don’t want to spy on them. And I really don’t want to see my father’s best friend walking through the house.

 _Coward_ , I whisper to myself. And I am.

It’s quiet for a few minutes as my fingers fly across screens and the holographic keys of Dad’s keyboard and soon there is nothing but distress calls whining through the workshop.

I almost have it, almost have the data defragged and realigned when JARVIS speaks up once more.

I stop the data with a sigh and stare at the frozen lines thoughtfully.

I’m so close. So fucking close to having this figured out.

“Miss Stark, Captain Rogers is outside, asking to be let in. Shall I admit him?”

I jerk my eyes to the heavy steel doorway and frown. “Doesn’t he have access codes J?” I ask, confused. Dad made sure his closest friends and colleagues had their own access codes, that way he could be sure who exactly was entering his work stations.

Stark paranoia at its finest.

Although…his history sort of demanded it.

“Of course madam. But he’s asking you if he can come in.”

Dad’s computer is as mild as ever, but I can detect a tone of uncertainty in his voice. He’s as unsure as the rest about how to react to the sudden reemergence of Tony Stark’s wild daughter from Ryker’s.

I hesitate; then, as I sway in my chair, suddenly light headed, I sigh and nod.

“Yes, fine, let him in J,” I mutter and I turn back to my work, my fingers flying over the keys of Dad’s modified keyboard, my face a mask of mild disinterest.

The door opens then and from the corner of my eye I see Steve Rogers slip over the threshold. His hands are full and my eyebrow rises at the sight of a first aid kit under his arm and the tray full of food he bears easily.

“Hello Jacqueline,” he says, his voice gentle in the general silence of the workshop. “Mind if I interrupt for a minute?”

He’s testing the waters, making sure I’m not going to throw him out. Or scream at him.

Or kill him.

I avoid his gaze and nod.

He sighs and finally approaches me, his stride easy and his gaze only mildly curious; I scoot the chair away from him and keep my eyes locked on the screens, my fingers still dancing across the keys of the keyboard and my mind only half focused on the information JARVIS and I have unearthed in the past hour or so.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks and he’s kneeling at my side, his movements slow, careful. As if I’m a wild animal ready to fight or fly.

Sometimes I feel half wild.

“Analyzing the distress call,” I mutter. “You know this came over the secure Avengers frequency three minutes before they were abducted?”

I know it did. JARVIS is telling me as much in the lines of code he’s provided.

Steve hesitates then nods. “Yeah. We thought it might be a fluke, just a random outburst of static but Colonel Rhodes-“

He stops and I stiffen, my shoulders automatically hunching as I curl into myself.

Rhodes.

 _Rhodey_.

I think immediately of that familiar silhouette standing on the balcony and my blood runs cold.

 _Is he coming downstairs too, then?_ I think and my mind starts thinking of escape routes, ways I can get away from all of them. _I can’t face him. I can’t. What would I even say?_

_“I’m sorry”?_

A hysterical little laugh slips free of my lips at that and I shiver, my fingers shaking against the keys of the desk.

“Jacqui, it’s all right,” Steve says and his hand is settling on my shoulders, warm and solid. “Jack, please-“

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, my jaw tight as I shrug his hand off; I don’t realize I’m standing until I stagger against the desk, my feet suddenly screaming in pain and I groan. He steadies me but I push him away, beyond furious. I’m terrified. I push him away and snarl, “Don’t touch me-just-leave me alone Steve!”

He is calm against my sudden anger and fear and he doesn’t leave.

“No,” he says, so simply. “I won’t. I’m not going to run away from you anymore Jacqui. So calm down.”

Before I can protest or push him uselessly once more, he is helping me back into his chair and his wide hands are cradling my bleeding feet.

I twitch, the reaction long engrained, but he doesn’t release me. Instead he drags the first aid kit into his lap and he removes a pair of surgical gloves and some tweezers from its well-stocked depths. His blue eyes rise to meet mine and a corner of his mouth twitches into a smile.

“Were you planning on bleeding out at your Dad’s desk?” he asks with a chuckle and all I can do is stare at him. He shrugs and glances at the computers. “So, what did you find? We know it’s a suit distress code and we know it’s Stark tech. We just don’t know exactly whose and why. Any ideas?”

I should be furious.

I should be terrified.

I should…

_Run away._

“JARVIS, run our diagnostics please,” I sigh and I sag back into my chair, suddenly exhausted. My hand rises to rub against my collarbones and my eyes are locked on the screens in front of me.

Within seconds of my request, JARVIS is playing the first two distress signals I’ve had lined up.

“This is Dad’s,” I mutter, my fingers rocking against the tattoos on my skin nervously, my eyes locked on the dancing wavelengths. Steve nods and the soft plink of glass falling into the metal pan at his side adds an odd counter note to the distress calls.

“I recognize it,” he mutters, his head bowed.

My lips twitch in a wry smirk and I flick my finger across the screen.

Instantly the Iron Man call is wiped and I pull Mom’s up. This one is finer tuned, higher pitched. And I don’t think Steve’s ever heard it before.

Rescue was only in the air for a few years, after the War. And Steve was MIA. He has no reason to know Mom’s distress signal.

He frowns and twists my left foot a bit so he can reach my heel. I don’t even feel him digging at the glass engrained in my skin.

I think he numbed it.

“That’s close,” he mutters, his blue eyes darting up to meet mine and I smile a little wider now.

He’s playing me.

He knows what is going on here, as much as I do. He just wants to make sure I’m not going to play any games with them.

This is a test.

Typical.

“JARVIS,” I call and the Rescue distress signal is cut short. I glance once more at Steve who’s moved onto my right foot; his gloves are covered in blood and there’s a pretty impressive pile of bloody chips of glass at his side.

I still can’t feel it.

“Play the Bluebird’s signal please.”

His shoulders stiffen a bit at that and I want to scream the moment that familiar whine comes up over the speakers.

It’s piercing and so similar to the Rescue call. But there’s my own personal touch to the coding; some would call it practical. I just preferred to think of it as lacking the Tony Stark need for flair.

I cut that off within seconds and pull up the mystery distress call.

It’s painfully close to the Bluebird but at the same time…

“It’s not right though,” I whisper, half to myself and half to my father’s computer. “There’s something under the waves. Something… _wrong_.”

I stretch shaking fingers out to stroke the dancing waves, my mind working on analyzing their pitch and coding and that’s when it hits me.

It’s been staring me in the face for the past hour.

 _How did I miss this?!  We thought this might be him...Why didn't I think of_ this _?!_

“Enough JARVIS,” I choke out, my hands falling limply into my lap. “Enough.”

“Of course Miss Stark,” Dad’s computer murmurs and I feel the heavy gaze of his fellow Avenger settle on me.

“Jacqui?” he asks but his voice is distant, faded.

“How did I miss this?” I ask myself and I raise my eyes back to the screens. “How could I have been so stupid?”

I start closing down screens, my fingers shaking and I am searching, searching desperately for the data I’m sure my father has squirreled away somewhere on his servers.

JARVIS, sensing my distress, hurries to help me and begins pulling up folders and files and useless data but it’s all wrong. I cast it aside with a muttered curse. It’s not what I need. I need…

I start going far back into Dad’s research, to the early days of Stark International, the days after the War, right before the company tanked.

I’m pulling up schematics, one right after the other and there is nothing but desperation in my fingers.

 _Stupid, stupid, **STUPID**_ , I think over and over and Steve is talking to me, calling to me, his hands tight around my feet, keeping me firmly in place in my chair.

But I don’t hear him. And I don’t feel the smart and sting of my injuries.

I’ve been so stupid. So _dense_.

Finally I’ve found it and I stare at the file in horror.

“Oh God,” I whisper and suddenly Steve’s hands are on my shoulders and he’s shaking me.

“Jacqui, look at me!” he snaps but I can’t. All I see is what I’ve been too stupid to understand.

This goes far beyond missing superheroes.

This is revenge.

“It’s the suit,” I whisper and I’m limp in Steve’s arms, my eyes locked on the file JARVIS is opening; the data scrolls by and all I see are suit schematics. Schematics that were stolen before I was even born, from when Dad was pitted against the son of his biggest rival. They’re the schematics for a suit that broke me. I’m shaking and I think I’m talking but I can’t focus. Because it’s the suit…It was always _that_ suit. “Somehow the suit survived. It’s…It really is him. He…he found a way to-oh God.”

Steve leans back and his eyes are sharp and blue and calm. Mine flick to his as he shakes me once more and I hear him snap, “What? Who? I thought it was your suit Jacqui! I thought someone hacked your suit!”

“No,” I whisper, tears starting to well my eyes. “He overlaid my signal on his suit's to trick my Dad into suiting up…oh God.”

He hesitates, taking in my horror and I think he knows then.

He knows this was never the Bluebird. Or Rescue. Or Iron Man. Or even the goddamn War Machine.

This is nothing from the armory.

This is something right out of my nightmares.

“Who, Jacqui? Who was it?” he growls and his eyes are desperate now.

I choke out a bitter laugh and my finger presses against the file titled Distress Relay.

“JARVIS,” I whisper, my eyes glued on the suit blue print spinning before me. “Play the Iron Monger’s distress signal for the Captain, but overlay the Bluebird’s signal on its wavelengths please.”

And God help us all…

He does.

“Perfect match,” I whisper as the now familiar pirated call screams through the workshop. “It really is Ezekiel Stane. He’s alive.”

Steve's eyes are wide and blue, full of disbelief and shock; none of them thought this was really Stane.  They thought this was another new villain or one of Dad's old enemies out for a little revenge.  It couldn't have been Stane.  

I killed him. 

 _But that's the Iron Monger suit's coding._ That's _the Stane suit of armor.  Somehow he's still alive..._

"He’s playing us," I whisper in horror.  

All I feel is the phantom memory of blood dripping over my collar bones to trail between my breasts.  

All I hear is...

_Play the game little Jacqui._

_Play the game._


	5. Chapter 5

When I graduated from MIT at eighteen I ran away to Africa.

To the media it was just the impetuous doings of eccentric Tony Stark’s wild, genius daughter.

To my family it was the ultimate betrayal.

“ _Why do you have to do this to me Jack?_ ” Dad asked when I told him and Mom over a vid-chat about my plan.

To say they were shocked was an understatement.

They were in Japan, moving forward with their plans for a new Stark Resilient R&D department in Tokyo. It was the first time Dad had been to Japan in almost twenty years.

I didn’t think about how difficult that must have been for him until much later.

“I’m not doing this ‘to’ you Dad,” I said, my back to them. I was packing, just one bag full of the essentials for two years in Kenya. Impetuous didn’t even begin to describe this plan of mine. “I’m doing this because I need to do my part. I need to…have a purpose in my life.”

I didn’t expect them to understand.

“ _Jacqui, honey, your father has a position for you in the LA R &D offices! He’s been holding this position for you while you finish your bachelor’s! And CalTech is holding a spot in their graduate program for you! You have an Assistant Instructor’s post in the Physics department! You can’t just throw this all away for a hair-brained jaunt in the desert!_”

Trust Mom to think of the company and my education.

“It’s not hair-brained Mom!” I snapped, suddenly furious and I turned to face them, my arms folded over my chest defensively. “It’s the Peace Corps! It’s a program devoted to making the world a better place! To helping those who really need it. Not the stock-holders or the board! And I think I can help them. I think I can…I can do good things with this. I need this you guys. I…I need to feel like I’m useful.”

All they did was stare at me, completely shocked.

It was Mom, Mom who broke the silence first. “ _Are those tattoos Jacqueline Stark?!_ ” she gasped and I knew if she was in my tiny Cambridge apartment she’d be shaking me. “ _Did you get tattooed while you were in New York with Sam Rhodes_?!”

I hesitated and then my fingers rose to stroke my collarbones. My newly adorned collarbones. “Yes, what’s it to you?” I asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

Dad did nothing but stare and Mom’s lips actually disappeared, she was pinching them together so tightly. I didn’t like thinking about what she wasn’t saying. She was pale with fury and I could swear her hair grayed as I watched her.

“ _Jacqueline Skye Stark you are in so much troub-_ “ she began and I rolled my eyes.

“’Trouble’? Really?” I scoffed. I turned my back on them and resumed packing. I kept talking though, anything to keep the focus off my smarting skin and the gentle sweeping blue stained feathers following the curve of my bones. “Come on Mom. I just graduated from college. And I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. What can you two really expect to do to me? Huh? It’s not like you’re even stateside! You haven’t seen me for months! You didn’t even come to see me walk! You’ve been in Japan doing company things!”

I knew I wasn’t being fair to them. In the scheme of things their teenaged daughter was the least of their concerns.

They had a company to run.

Dad had superhero things to do.

And I was…well, I was always going to do the right thing, always going to be the proper little Stark daughter.

Until now.

“ _Jack, what’s going on?_ ”

Dad’s voice was so soft, so not Tony Stark’s usual suave voice, I actually paused.

“What? N-nothing’s going on Dad,” I stammered, my back still turned so they couldn’t see my pale cheeks or wide eyes. “E-everything’s fine.”

He was quiet for a moment and then I heard him say to Mom, “ _Go take a walk Pep, take a cold shower or something. I’ll talk to her. It’ll be okay. Go on._ ”

Somehow…

Somehow Dad saying he’d talk to me on his own, without Mom at his side shooting me the stink eye was enough to scare me into confessing.

“I’m scared Daddy,” I whispered the moment Mom left their hotel room and I sagged to the floor in front of my computer, my face buried in my hands. “I’m scared that I’m going to grow up and realize I’ve done nothing worthwhile in my life. Is that stupid?”

Dad was quiet for a moment and I looked up to see his fingers tapping nervously on the surface of the arc reactor in his chest. He smiled when he saw me looking and he leaned his elbows onto the desk where his phone rested. “ _Oh baby_ ,” he muttered, his blue eyes sad but so very gentle. “ _I know what that’s like. It’s why I’ve done what I’ve done. You’re not stupid for being afraid. We’re all afraid, even your Mom, that we’re going to live our lives without truly discovering what our purpose was. That’s just human nature Jack._ ”

He sighed and ran his hand over his chin; his goatee was more of a beard at that point and there was a lot more salt than pepper in his hair than I remembered there being before; I was struck in that moment how long he’d been going at the Tony Stark/Iron Man thing.

“Dad?” I asked, unable to stop myself. He glanced up at me and smiled wearily. “Why did you decide to keep up the Iron Man? Why didn’t you stop after the War? After you stepped down as SHIELD Director? After all of it? Why didn’t you just…retire?”

His blue eyes, the exact shade and shape as my own, locked on mine and he hesitated. “ _Why_?” he asked finally after a long, tense moment. “ _Because it’s my penance. And my purpose. It’s what I do to make sense of my life baby_.”

Before I could even react to that unusual look into Tony Stark’s psyche, he stood. “ _Okay, Jack. Okay,_ ” he said, his voice weary but resigned. He moved past the desk to stand at the windows of their hotel room and I shivered at the tense line of his back. Dad was worried, why, I wasn’t completely sure but I knew he’d never tell me, even if I asked. He had learned the hard way about secrecy, even with family.

Especially family.

He glanced at me after a moment and sighed. “ _I understand why you’re doing this, Jack. I don’t approve and I don’t appreciate you going behind my back on it. On any of it. But I understand, okay? So I’ll give you two years. Two years to help in whatever village you’re stationed and I’ll do it without complaining. But the moment those two years are over, I’m bringing you home and you’re going to do what you’ve been meant to do since you were born. Is that understood? You’re a Stark. This is your heritage. You can’t hide from it. Not for forever._ ”

I would always remember how tired he looked when he gave me his ultimatum. How worn out.

And for a brief moment I considered rescinding my position on the Corps.

It was a very brief moment.

“All right Dad,” I said and I was kind of surprised at how truly all right this whole thing had become. “I’ll see you in two years?”

He chuckled and nodded. “ _If not sooner Jacqui,_ ” he said with a wry grin. I groaned and prepared to shut the conference down but he stopped me. “ _By the way, kiddo,_ ” he said and I froze, suddenly terrified, terrified that he might go back on his offer, so soon after offering me this compromise. He grinned and pointed at my chest. “ _What’s with the feathers?_ ” he asked.

His eyebrow rose when I hesitated and then I smiled.

“They’re bluebird feathers Dad,” I said, my fingers rising to stroke my still tender skin. “Like that bird you rescued for me when I was five. Remember?”

He chuckled and nodded, his chin cupped in the palm of his hand. “ _How could I forget Jack? You were so happy that day when I brought you that bird_.” He straightened and prepared to shut the call off. “ _Love you baby,_ ” he said, his voice so soft.

I smiled, tears pricking my eyes and I raised my fingers to my lips so I could blow him a kiss, just like I used to do when I was little. “Love you Daddy.”

He pretended to catch the kiss and then waved.

A moment later the call was cut.

And the next day I flew to Africa.

I never forgot what he said that day though, about Iron Man being his penance, his purpose.

Somehow it made him seem more human-just a man trying to atone for his sins.

I loved my father unconditionally those days; he was my hero in every form of the word and while I tried to do some good for those who needed it, I knew in the back of my head, that if Tony Stark could have a purpose, then his wayward daughter could as well.

It was a thought that sustained me well past the two years of my Peace Corps service.

**

“Miss Stark, I must inform you that sir left something behind for you, in the armory.”

I sit up so quickly at Dad’s desk I almost fall out of the chair. My eyes are wide as I gaze through the dimly lit workshop towards the voice that’s jerked me from my sudden nap and I clear my throat.

“W-what? Sorry, I didn’t catch that J. What’s up?” I mutter, my mind not exactly working after such an abrupt waking. One quick glance at the clock and I see I’ve been out for an hour. I slept through the last few hours of my first day back in Malibu. _Feels like an eternity_ , I think to myself and I grimace.

No matter how long it’s been, my back is aching from my slumped position and the soles of my feet are throbbing.

I pop some painkillers Steve left beside the now empty plate of cookies and dry swallow them with another grimace. “What’s going on J?” I ask as I crack my neck and glance absently at the screen showing the tracers I’m tracking in regards to my parents and their disappearance. Not much has changed in the past hour so I turn back to the main screen and fold my arms, waiting.

JARVIS has been quiet through my human adjustments but the moment I seem a little bit alive the screen flickers into life. “Sir left a certain item for you Miss, if something should arise where he was unable to return to California. It has been over thirty six hours since his disappearance. This is in accordance to my programming, described as ‘the right time.’”

“The right time for what JARVIS?” I snap, entirely too uneasy with the computer’s idea of the “right time” for anything involving Dad and me.

He doesn’t answer, but my attention is drawn right away to the screens; their blue light spills over the desk and I still at the comprehensive look into Dad’s armory his computer is providing me.

“What’s going on JARVIS?” I say slowly as images of the various Mark’s in residence begin flashing by, their diagnostics scrolling at their sides. So many different versions of the Iron Man suit, so many years of Dad’s life here in this database. “Why are you showing me the armory, J? Dad never lets anyone into the armory database…oh shit.”

Suddenly the suit parade slows and JARVIS settles on one particular suit.

A suit I know backwards and forwards.

The chair slams to the ground as I throw myself towards the computers. “What the hell JARVIS?!” I snarl, my face inches from the screen. “Open the goddamn armory this moment you stupid computer!”

“Miss, I do not know if that is a goo-“

I snort and slam my fist on the desk. “Good or bad, you’re opening the armory JARVIS. Do it now.”

After a moment…he does.

“Very well Miss Stark. Malibu version 4 Stark Armory deployed.”

There’s a faint whine at the back of the workshop and the floor churns sickeningly beneath my feet for a second. I glance around the screens and absently order the lights to full power before making my way into the hidden corners of Tony Stark’s world.

I don’t need the lights of course, I know this particular armory very well. I know my parent’s suits even better.

As I weave through the suits emerging from the floor to rest in at-ease positions before me, my fingers trail over the titanium of Rescue and Iron Man’s limbs. It’s almost like…well it’s almost like my parents are here with me.

There are three versions of the Rescue suit I discover and I wonder, briefly, if Mom took up the suit after my imprisonment. I know she didn’t though. As long as Dad and Rhodey are in the air Pepper Potts will keep her feet firmly on the ground.

As for the Iron Man suit…

“This isn’t an armory JARVIS,” I mutter, my eyes wide as I take in the array of my family’s legacy. “This is a museum.”

And it’s true.

There are suits here from his early days, from the very beginning of Iron Man. Which I suppose doesn’t surprise me, really. The Malibu armory was always his favorite, his base.

Some would call it a graveyard.

In all honesty, it’s a retirement community of defunct suits.

“Where’s the suit J?” I snap when I still haven’t found it; I’m deep in the Iron Man paraphernalia now. There are suits here that have never been worn, never been modified, never been touched. I’m surrounded in every shade of red, gold, silver and steel grey ever imagined but there’s not even a hint of blue hidden in the suits.

But I know it’s here. Dad’s computer is being tricky, trying to protect Tony Stark even now.

He’s hiding it because this is something Dad never should have done.

He never should have touched my suit.

He locked me away.

I shove past the Mark IV, scarred and ragged around the edges and come face to face with Dad’s very first suit. The Mark Zero.

I shriek and scramble backwards-for a moment five years old, lost in the armory. I’d come face-to-face with this monster as a toddler and my cries had echoed through the workshop until Dad had rescued me.

I never could face its blank mask after that particular outing.

 _JARVIS, you’re going to be the death of me_ , I think, and I flinch as my feet let out a painful twinge on the grate flooring of the armory.

I won’t let him distract me though.

“Show me the suit J!”

My voice echoes dangerously in the workshop and after a second JARVIS is overridden by the direct command issued from one of his Stark’s. He presents the Bluebird.

There’s a hum at the very rear of the armory and a hulking suit of black and gold slides into the floor. My fingers clench tightly as the floor churns once more beneath my feet; there’s a hum of gears and I can see the mechanism within the panels selecting and adjusting with the requested object JARVIS has selected. Within seconds the black and gold suit is gone and a new suit has taken its place.

It rises slowly before me but unlike the others it is not online. There is no glow at the center of its chest, no light at the eyes or mouth. Just shadow.

Waiting…For its user. And a new arc reactor.

 _Oh Dad_ , I think. He would be so amused to hear the wonder in my thoughts. _Nothing I could do would ever compare to this Tony Stark. It’s…fucking genius!_

It’s truly a beautiful piece of my father’s craftsmanship.

The gold accents at the hips and thighs and sweeping silver lines across the chest and over the shoulders are stunning against the sky blue paint of the suit.

 _It…It actually looks like its namesake_ , I think idly, my eyes unable to settle on just one of the Bluebird suit’s features.

“Impressive,” I mutter as I approach Dad’s present. The blue and silver helmet is different than Rescue’s, different than the old suit. Not as…solemn. The blank eyes (will they be silver?) are catlike, sweeping upwards at the corners, lending a certain knowingness to the oval mask.

It looks…Well, like me, I suppose; the smooth lines and delicate paintjob call to mind my tattoos and my coloring.

The blue matches my eyes perfectly. And Dad’s.

That’s rather an unsettling thought.

He’s been working on this, for a while by the looks of things and it’s actually kind of perfect.

Unbidden my fingers rise to stroke over the silver and gold detailed chest plate. “Is it me J?” I mutter as I study the overlaying panels of the piece. “But did Dad layer these just right to make it look like feathers?”

JARVIS, ever the practical one of our dynamic duo, disagrees. “Not to my knowledge Miss Stark. If I understand he did it to help balance the power of the modified arc. Since your body is not adapted to arc reactor technology-“

“He had to strengthen the chest plate so my heart doesn’t burn out,” I finish for the computer, and my fingers are circling the chest indent where the arc should go; I shiver at the memory of the silver light spilling from the chest plate onto Sam Rhodes’ battered face and try to ignore the panic creeping over my skin at the memories. I drop my hands and kneel at the suit’s feet, concentrating on the base repulsors instead. “Interesting. I never would have thought of that.”

“Yes Miss Stark, he assumed that was the case, considering how the first version of your suit was misappropriated. He also took your injuries into consideration when you were recovered.”

“Injuries,” I say, my voice flat and I straighten from my crouch. “Do you mean the trauma to my heart J?” I ask and I glance at the screen just to the right of the suit’s stand. All of the suits have a tablet set to their sides. They provide the diagnostics of each armor and provide information on the last wear or the damage still needing repair.

This one is different though.

Dad was still working on the suit. It’s only half completed according to JARVIS. And the computer was right; he did take in the strain of an unsupported arc on my heart into account.

The feather designs across the chest have dual purpose it would seem…

“Indeed Miss,” JARVIS supplies as my fingers brush the opaque screen of the tablet titled “Freebird” “If you were to finish the suit now and supply the chest piece with a suitable arc reactor, well-”

“It would be like Dad in the Iron Man suit,” I finish for him. Interesting. _That’s a lot of power. Why did he do that?_ I glance up and spot a gunmetal silver suit a few rows over and frown. “There’s a War Machine suit in residence?” I ask as I limp in the silver suit's direction.

I can see the red eyes of its mask and the red glow of its arc.

I hesitate, just for a moment and try to ignore the racing of my heart. I forgot how Dad and Rhodey rigged the light panels in the suit to glow red; if I remember correctly it was Rhodey’s idea, to lend a ferociousness to the suit.

It’s eerily similar to the Iron Monger’s design.

I push aside my unease and edge around an early version of the Bleeding Edge armor before coming face-to-face with Major Jim Rhodes’ suit. It’s a Mark I type suit, I suddenly remember, if a bit more…understated than Dad’s previous designs.

“Hello War Machine,” I whisper and my throat closes up a bit at the deadly scowl facing me. “Long time no see.”

Before I lose my courage I grab the tablet attached to its station and scroll through, reading the arc reactor diagnostics, my mind spinning as I analyze the power outputs and the delicate balance Dad took into account of a heart not suited to arc reactor technology and the power needed to run such a heavy suit of armor.

“If I’m going to finish the Bluebird I’m going to have to take into account Dad’s work on Rhodey’s armor and the version of the arc reactor they use for the War Machine,” I mutter to myself. When I’d worn the suit the first time I’d stolen one of Mom’s spare reactor’s from the specialized safe in their bedroom. It hadn’t been the best plan, but all things considered, not my most stupid.

“I’m going to need a stronger arc,” I mutter. “JARVIS, how much vibranium does Dad have on site?”

“Twenty grams at last count Miss. May I ask-“

I smile and shake my head, still engrossed in my research. “Better not J, just to be on the safe side.”

“Of course Miss. I shall leave you to your work. Should you need me, simply call.”

“Thanks J,” I mumble and I glance once to the blue suit I can just see beyond my Dad’s suits. “This is going to be interesting…”

I don’t get far in my analysis of the War Machine armor. I’ve begun sketching designs for a new arc, using Dad’s theorems but it’s nothing solid, and I’ve barely touched on the power supply needed when JARVIS speaks up once more, his voice slightly panicked.

“Miss Stark, there is someone heading in the direction of the workshop, intent on speaking with you. Since the armory is now in your control and considering the dubious nature of sir’s location, may I recommend-“

“Lock it up J,” I snap and I snatch the War Machine’s tablet from its charging station and tuck it under my arm. Already the floor is lurching beneath my feet and the suits are easing into their hidden nooks and crannies. Soon the only sign of Dad’s armory will the grating on the floors and a row of lights fading to black.

As I limp in the direction of the desk and the still glowing computer screens, I glance over my shoulder and catch sight of the Bluebird easing into the floor.

“Keep the Bluebird quiet J,” I mutter as I set the tablet down and collapse in Dad’s chair. “Don’t need all of the Stark secrets slipping out before their time, right”

“Of course Miss. I will no sooner divulge the armory’s inhabitants than the house’s very workings. That is how sir would wish it to be.”

A wry chuckle slips from my lips at that and I lean back in my chair with a sigh as the far corner of the workshop, opposite of Dad’s rather impressive Malibu sports car collection, fades into darkness.

Within just a few seconds the space has become nondescript and I cannot help being impressed.

“Oh Dad, paranoid to the very end, weren’t you?” I mutter as someone on the opposite side of the door begins entering their security codes.

I glance in the direction of the door and frown. “J, who exactly is here to see me?” I ask, suddenly jumpy. The computer didn’t announce whoever this is so that means he has high enough clearance to block Dad’s programming.

There’re only three people in the world who can do that, besides my parents.

Me.

Steve.

And…

“Rhodey,” I breathe as the door opens and my father’s best friend enters the workshop, a tray of food in his hands and that damn first aid kit in his hands. “Oh God…”

“Hey Jack,” he says with a sad smile. “Long time no see.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Steve said you’ve been down here all day so I thought I might stop by with some food and fresh bandages,” Rhodey says from the doorway; he hasn’t moved across the threshold. He’s…waiting.

For me.

But I’m frozen, locked in my chair, my hands clenching the armrests so tightly my knuckles are white.

 _He’s here, he’s here_ , I think wildly, my eyes locked on his uncertain smile and graying hair. A part of me has processed his words, has noted his own discomfort but for the life of me I can’t speak or move. I’m stuck. _What do I do? What do I say? How can he even look at me? Oh my God. Run-run-RUN_!

“Jacqui?”

I jump at his worried voice and my eyes flutter closed as he approaches me. _Please go_ , I whisper to myself but I can’t say it out loud. I have no right to ask for anything of this man.

His son died because of me…

“You okay?” he asks and I let out a hopeless little laugh, my head bowing so I can’t meet his warm gaze. The first aid kit falls to the desk surface and I can hear him chuckle sadly at my jittery reaction to the noise. “Sorry, guess that’s a silly question, isn’t it Jack?” he mutters and he sets the tray down beside the kit, his eyes still locked on my huddled figure.

It’s so quiet, so still in the workshop I can hear my heart beating. I can hear every breath we take and it terrifies me.

I’m waiting.

Waiting for the anger, for the pain, I know he must feel.

A part of me yearns for it, longs for that anger, to be punished for my actions, for the murders I committed and for my ultimate failure in keeping Sam safe. He deserves to be furious, to want to harm me and I know that.

 _Please Rhodey_ , I think and I do not notice the single tear easing down my cheek to splash in my lap. _Please…_

A soft sob bursts from my lips and my whole being shakes with the dangerous emotions I’m struggling to keep at bay. This has been a hellish day already and his being here…well, it’s pushing me over the edge. I feel like screaming or crying or dying and I don’t know how much longer I can last, keeping calm.

Another tear falls to join the first and a short tremor darts up my spine at the dark spot on my old, faded jeans. My eyes are glued to that spot, focused on anything but the man standing before me.

“Rhodey,” I whisper as the little blue spot grows. “I’m sorry…”

And I start to cry, great shaking sobs that rip from my chest and I don’t know if I’m crying because of Sam or because of my vanished parents or just because of everything that’s happened in the past day.

I suppose, in all honesty, it’s a combination of it all.

Suddenly, before I even know what’s happening, Rhodey is kneeling before my chair and wrapping his arms around me, his hand at the back of my head and he’s shushing the sudden outburst of sobs I can no longer contain.

“Shh, it’s okay Jack,” he mutters, over and over, one hand stroking my hair and the other rubbing briskly over my back. “Shh, you’re okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Before I can stop myself I’m wrapping my arms around his neck and sliding onto the floor before him. My sobs have turned into full on tears now and I keep trying to speak but I don’t even think I’m saying anything coherent.

Just…

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over-and-over, my face buried in the crook of his neck, my body shaking with the force of my sorrow and fear. “I’m sorry Rhodey!”

His cheek rests against my hair and he sighs. “I know sweetheart, I know,” he murmurs and he’s rocking me, gently, like he used to do when I was growing up. “But you’re okay, now. You’re here now, you’re safe.”

The ridiculousness of those words, of this whole fucking situation only makes me cry harder.

It feels like five years-worth of tears.

And maybe it is…

It takes me a while to realize Rhodey’s talking through my sobbing, his deep voice soothing and like something right out of my childhood.

“When Tony told me they were locking you away, I tried to stop them, you know. I tried to tell them that you’d only done what any of us would have done, albeit a little more violently than we’ve acted in the past, but he wouldn’t listen. You were broken beyond belief and Strange had to put you in a coma so your body could heal without too much trauma. You kept _fighting_ Jack, fighting the doctors, fighting your parents, fighting Strange; you know you crashed three times on the way to the hospital, and twice more while in surgery? Too much strain on your heart from the suit.”

He shifts just enough so that his back is pressed to the legs of the desk but he keeps his arms around me; I’m gripping him tightly now, desperate for the contact, desperate for something to ground me. His hand continues to stroke my hair, soothing and gentle and his cheek still rests against me.

I can’t say anything; my words are frozen, everything I’ve wanted to say, _needed_ to say, locked away.

He continues after a moment and his voice cracks as he speaks, “It was awful and you felt so much guilt for what you’d done, Jacqui. You had nightmares while you were sleeping, terrifying spikes in your neurological scans and Strange couldn’t even access you on the astral plane or whatever. You locked us out and there was nothing we could do. I argued with Tony for days, days, saying you could be pardoned, because of your background.”

I shiver at the anger in his voice, at the frustration and wonder why he wanted to fight for me, why he thought I deserved any type of pity.

_I let Sam die._

Rhodey shrugs. “But Tony and the others were adamant. You had to be locked away.”

He sighs and my hands are still fisted in his shirt, my face still pressed to his neck, my body still shaking.

I don’t remember how to move.

“It wasn’t your fault Jacqui,” he says and he’s lifting me then, right into his arms and hardened criminal I may be, I let him. His dark eyes are sad, weary but he’s smiling, just slightly. He continues as he carries me towards the couch tucked away by the little kitchenette. “None of it was your fault Jack. I never blamed you, never even thought to blame you. We all saw the footage. Saw what had happened. Sam…Sam’s death wasn’t on your hands.”

He sets me down then, onto Dad’s raggedy brown leather couch and he strokes a thumb over my cheek, wiping away any tears that may still be there on my skin.

“I still think of you as a daughter Jacqui,” he says with a sigh. “And that will never change. Sam would have wanted it that way.”

Then he’s digging in his pants pocket and as I take a couple deep breaths he pulls his hand free. He stares at his clasped fingers for a moment and I freeze, suddenly terrified of what he may hold.

I don’t have time to react when he suddenly grabs my hand and spreads my fingers.

“He would have wanted you to have these back,” he mutters and he sets two rings in my palm.

My wedding band and the engagement ring with the pretty sun-sapphire. I haven’t seen them for five years. They were removed from my fingers before Rykers. I’d always thought they’d been lost or stolen.

My gasp is loud in the workshop. “M-my rings!” I sputter. “How-where-why, Rhodey?!”

He smiles and shrugs. “I’ve been holding onto them for the past five years. Sam would have wanted you to have them back. You don’t have to wear them or anything, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t but they belong to you.”

I’m still shocked. “But they were-they were his mother’s! They were Suzi’s! You-you should keep them!” I thrust the rings back towards him but he closes his hand over my fist.

“No, Jacqui,” he says with a small smile, his hands wrapped around mine now and he shakes his head. “They’re yours. Please, keep them, for me.”

I stare at him for a moment, tears still trickling down my cheeks but seeing how sure he is at this gift, I nod.

“All right. Thank you Rhodey,” I whisper and I slide the rings onto my right ring finger. It’s a loose fit, I’m thinner than I was five years ago, and more fit.

Something’s are no longer a perfect fit.

Like college year jeans.

And wedding rings.

 _And the Bluebird?_ I think but I shake that thought away. It may not be perfect yet, but it will be soon. I’ll be sure of that.

Rhodey smiles gently and cups my cheek in his palm. “Thank you,” he murmurs before rising and heading back towards the desk. “Right, so what’s the plan Stark?” he says over his shoulder, a fierce grin flashing across his lips and I jump.

“Plan? What do you mean?” I stammer, still frozen, staring at the rings on my fingers.

He chuckles. “Well, everyone is off doing their thing trying to find Tony and Pepper but Steve says you’ve been down here searching for Stane. He seems to think you have an idea of how to go about this. Of what to do. So, what’s the plan? Come on,” he says with a groan as he sits beside me, tray of food and first aid kit at hand. “You’re a Stark. You’re always thinking.”

He taps my temple with one finger and a small smile flits across my lips.

I’m not used to this, not used to people talking to me… _normally_. Five years in a cell has not helped improve my social skills, I realize and that’s almost as exhausting as the thought of catching up to Dad’s tech.

“Well,” I hedge, my fingers busying themselves with the roast beef sandwich he hands me. “I’m cross-referencing anything related to Ezekiel, Obadiah and even Jedediah Stane in hopes of understanding who exactly is toying with us. I’ve um…”

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, which is tangled and frizzy now that I’ve taken it out of its tidy braid.

“Sorry,” I whisper and I drop the sandwich back onto its plate. “I-uh-can’t…”

Rhodey’s watching me, his dark eyes calculating and I want to kick him out of the workshop.

I can’t do this, I realize, suddenly. I can’t be normal, not anymore. I don’t know how to talk to him, to the others. I don’t know how to think when other human beings are watching me.

It’s laughable really.

I’ve become a robot. I’ve become one of Tony Stark’s metal suits; cold, heartless, analytical.

Nothing but wires and alloy, hidden away in scarred human flesh.

I almost feel like crying again.

He must sense my distress because he sets his hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently, anchoring me, bringing me home. My eyes lock on his and I take another deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, to think.

He nods and smiles.

“Jack, it’s okay,” he says. “You’re exhausted. You need sleep and you need to be left alone. I understand, better than you’d think, you know. You’re a Stark, after all.”

Rhodey’s eyes are gentle now, crinkled at the corners with his smile and he sets the sandwich once more in my limp fingers.

All I can do is stare at him, stunned with this basic understanding.

Sometimes I forget Rhodey’s lived through three generations of Starks. If anyone’s distinctly qualified to deal with our unusual quirks it’s him.

And Mom.

“Thank you Rhodey,” I whisper and I take a bite of my sandwich. He chuckles and pats my knee.

“Eat and I’ll fix up your feet and then we’ll get you to bed okay?” He places my feet in his lap and I shift to accommodate him, wincing slightly when he brushes one of the deeper cuts in my left foot. He begins unwrapping the bandages, still talking. “SHIELD and Steve’s team can take care of this for a few hours, all right? No sense in pushing you too hard on your first day out of the clink.”

I’m quiet, content to eat the food he’s brought me and after a moment I feel myself relax just slightly in his quiet presence.

I take the time to study him, to reacquaint myself with his features.

He’s more lined and more gray then I remember, but it works for him.

I think I’m surrounded by people who age incredibly well. That’s just a tad unfair. I’m only twenty-seven and at this point I feel like I’m fifty.

He must sense my wry calculation because his lips lift in a tiny smile. “Do you remember when you were twelve and Sam was fourteen?” he asks and I jump slightly, still on edge, still unsure how to handle all of this communication with another person. He glances at me as he gently wipes some ointment on the balls of my left foot, careful to not press too hard on my stupid injuries.

I must look puzzled because his smile grows.

“Your first kiss?” he hints and the sandwich falls from my fingers as my cheeks suddenly explode with color.

“Oh no, please Rhodey no!” I gasp and I’m laughing now, the sound as unusual as my previous sobs. “God, you had to bring that up didn’t you?!”

And he’s laughing as well, his head thrown back against the couch, his hand clasped to his forehead, my feet and my dinner forgotten.

“You-you and Sam,” he gasps, tears running down his cheeks. “ _Braces_!”

We’re laughing so hard we don’t notice the workshop door opening or someone entering my father’s space. I can hardly imagine what Steve thought, seeing Rhodey and me sagged against my father’s hideous couch, my feet in his lap and my arm outflung with my sandwich barely clasped in my fingers.

I suppose we looked rather ridiculous…

“’Braces’?” a voice asks and I choke on a breathless giggle and straighten a bit in my seat.

“Steve!” I gasp, tears still streaming down my face. “W-what are you doing here?”

He folds his arms and his eyebrow quirks just slightly. “Checking on you two. Rhodey…Rhodey’s been down here a while. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He’s still staring at us, that brow arched thoughtfully at the random giggles that still slip from our lips and he sighs after a moment.

“All right. What’s so funny? Come on, spill. You two are going to suffocate otherwise,” he grumbles and he’s pulling a chair over and sitting in front of us, his arms resting on its back. His blue eyes are intense, that calculating gleam still in their depths but he’s smiling.

I glance at Rhodey who waves in my direction, still chuckling and I clear my throat as he turns back to my feet.

“Do you remember a spring break almost fifteen years ago Steve, when my parents were stuck in D.C. during a really horrible blizzard and I stayed with Rhodey and Sam?” I ask, still slightly breathless.

He thinks for a moment and rests his chin on his arms. “Yeah, I think so. It was your last year at that boarding school in Seattle,” he says slowly.

“Military school,” Rhodey mutters with his head bowed, still chuckling and I nudge him with my toes.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, turning back to a Steve with an annoyed roll of my eyes. “Military school. So anyway, Rhodey and Sam brought me back to Malibu since my parents were snowbound and I spent all week with the Rhodes’”

“Should have known better,” Rhodey grumbled and he tickles my toes briefly.

I groan and shake my head as Steve’s lips lift in a knowing smile. “Oh shut up! I wasn’t that bad!”

Rhodey’s eyebrows rose and he turned to Steve, who’d scoffed out a laugh at my protestations. “Not ‘that bad,’” he said with a snort. “Right. She hijacked my alarm clock Cap! Hijacked it on one of the most important days in my military career!”

Steve chuckles as I throw my head back onto the armrest with melodramatic groan and shakes his head. “I think I heard something about that. Didn’t it turn into a-“

“Fire breathing robot, yeah,” Rhodey growls and I peek at him from under my arm.

“Well,” I hedge a bit, “you have to admit it was pretty cool when it stood up after the third time you hit snooze and grew arms. You never did ask me how I did that.”

“It singed my eyebrows off Jacqueline Stark,” he grumbles but his eyes are sparkling and he’s trying to hide his smile.

He turns back to Steve as he lets out a deep laugh and shakes his head. “Anyway, she was a holy terror all week,” Rhodey continues as Steve keeps chuckling, “tinkering with anything and everything she could get her hands on. And Sam just holed up in his room and read comic books. Absolutely no help at all!”

I sit up a bit and frown. “I don’t remember whose idea it was-“

“Yours,” both men say seriously and I snort.

“How do you know?” I ask Steve and he rolls his eyes.

“It was always your idea, no matter what it was,” he says and I start to protest but he cocks an eyebrow. “You went sledding that one year in my shield.  Danielle Cage had to get five stitches in her forehead when you crashed into her and Peter's youngest wouldn't look at the shield for months afterwards.”

I subside with a sheepish grin and pop a grape from my tray in my mouth. “Oh yeah…I forgot about that.”

Rhodey chuckles and shakes his head. “God Jack, you were such a terror growing up.” He sighs and pats my feet, all bandaged now, and leans back against the couch. “All I know is it was the second or third day you were at our house and you’d already turned the blender into an AI, rewired the TV to only play Russian porn and tried to create a living army out of Sam’s G.I. Joe collection. And every night your Dad called to make sure you were doing okay, that you weren’t dying of boredom and to swear he and Pepper were going to leave D.C. as soon as the storm let up.” He glances at me and sighs. “By the fourth day I was sure it was all a conspiracy and they were safe in the Bahamas while I had to deal with you.”

I roll my eyes and glance at Steve, “I wasn’t really any worse than normal, I swear. It’s just they had all of these things to improve! I had to help them out a bit!”

Both men snort and Steve rolls his eyes. “Sure Jacqui. So what’s this about braces? And Jacqui’s idea? And Sam?”

Rhodey glances at me and folds his arms. “So?” he says and I blush.

“Do I have to?” I ask and he nods. I sigh and fiddle with my sandwich crusts for a moment, my cheeks still warm. I can’t help my mind drifting to that long ago day and for a moment I’m rocked by overwhelming sorrow that the boy I kissed is no longer at my side.

Suddenly Rhodey is holding my hand, the hand with the rings and he’s squeezing my fingers.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to Jack,” he says. “We’ll understand.”

I shake my head and smile a shaky little smile. “Nah,” I mutter and I shake my hair out of my eyes. “It’s stupid to wallow. Besides it’s a fucking hilarious story.”

I smirk and I turn to Steve. “So that school I was at was an all-girl’s place, right? You knew that, I wouldn’t be surprised if my parent’s told you guys all about it. Tenth school in like five years, I think they were at their wits end.” I smile wryly and run my fingers through my hair once more. “It may have been a girl’s place but that didn’t stop my roommate’s, all older girls from wealthy families like mine, girl’s with parents who couldn’t control them, from talking about the boys they’d kissed or said they’d kissed. Or in a few cases, slept with. So at twelve I had a pretty extensive knowledge base of sex and boys, yada yada. But I’d never kissed a boy before.”

My cheeks darken a bit as I think of a particular embarrassing occasion of one of the girls ( _Theresa Barks, God what a bitch…_ ) telling me a detailed story of her sexual exploits and I shudder.

I can’t help smiling at the faint blush on Steve’s cheeks; still bashful, even after all these years being married to Sharon, our noble Captain, I reflect. “So on the second or third day I’d made my way through most of the Rhodes’ kitchen appliances and maybe one or two alarm clocks and my _homework_ ,” I point out when Rhodey snorts. “And I hadn’t seen much of Sam, which I remember thinking was odd.”

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly, his eyes thoughtful. “You two were inseparable growing up.”

I nod and Rhodey chuckles; he’s leaning back against the couch now, his hands folded behind his head. My feet are still in his lap.

“So I decided I was going to take things into my own hands,” I continue after a moment and I’m smiling now, thinking of my twelve-year old self’s thought process leading up to me throwing open my best friend’s door. “I was in one of my old Iron Man shirts, jeans and my favorite black Converse,” I mutter and for some reason that’s important. “And I remember thinking I looked pretty cute and for the life of me I couldn’t think of why Sammy was avoiding me. Genius daughter of Tony Stark and I couldn’t figure the one boy I actually liked, out. God it was so frustrating.”

I run my fingers over my collarbones nervously, my fingers bumping over the faint lines of my tattoos and my mind is lost as I remember Sam Rhodes’ childhood room; it had been so sunny, I remember that, the sunlight streamed from his windows and his room smelled like the Pacific. He’d had his sliding glass doors open, the curtains streaming into the room. The walls were painted a dark blue now, and covered in bookshelves and posters.

Which had all begun to change from the superheroes we’d idolized for our entire childhoods.

That had been so fascinating for me…

_“Why are all of those girls mostly naked?” I ask from the doorway, my eyes wide as I take in Sam’s messy room. I haven’t been in his space for over a year and to say it’s changed since last I was here is a bit of an understatement._

_Although…I suppose Sam’s changed too. I briefly reflect on how tall he is and muscular. That’s kind of irritating. I’ve always been taller than Sammy._

_He’s sitting on his bed, buried behind a comic book and he jumps. “W-what?” he stammers and I giggle despite myself._

_He’s blushing, his dusky cheeks darkening even further now and it’s just so funny seeing him surprised and uncomfortable._

_“Why are the girls on your walls so…naked?” I say slowly, my hands on my hips in my best Pepper Potts’ “tell-me-the-truth-young-lady-before-I-have-JARVIS-take-away-your-kitchen-priviledges” stance._

_Sam just glances from me to the posters and blushes an even darker red. “W-what?” he stammers again and I can’t help thinking maybe his brain has fried with all of the growing he’s done._

_It wouldn’t surprise me._

_I glance around the room, taking stock once more of his space and consider his decorations more closely; there are four posters, all life-size, and the girls are posed on cars or on beaches or against balconies and they all look really unnatural to me._

_And kind of…demeaning._

_“You realize their boobs can’t be that big in real-life, right?” I ask as I walk into his room, dodging the army men on his floor and dirty clothes spilling out of his hamper, to get to his bed. Sam’s staring at me, his ice-blue eyes wide and his mouth open. I shrug as I bounce onto his bed across from him and fold my legs beneath me. “I mean, there’s no way they could be_ that _big! They’d tip right over!”_

_Physics was never Sam’s strong-suit._

He better not forget I’m supposed to be tutoring him this week _, I think as I toy with my braid and study boy and room._

_He’s frowning, not so bashful now that I’ve invaded his space and am only a few inches from the book he’s reading._

_And he just looks like he’s hiding something now._

_“Jack, get lost. I’m working on-on homework,” he mutters and my eyebrow rises, just like Dad’s does when he’s listening to my stories._

_“Uh-huh,” I say, completely unimpressed and I cock my head so I can read the title of the raggedy comic he’s reading. “Since when has… ‘Aquarion’ been homework?”_

_“None of your business!” he mutters and he tries to hide the comic but he just jostles it against his knees (he’s really all arms and legs now, all gangly discord and it would be cute if he wasn’t blushing again) and another magazine (decidedly_ not _about a wizard with water powers), the thing he’s been reading so closely, spills out of the comic’s pages to flip open in front of me._

_My eyes widen and for once in my twelve years I’m stunned into silence._

_It doesn’t last long._

_“Oh. My. God,” I gasp as I snatch the book up before he can stop me. “Sam this is-this is-where did you get this?!”_

_He’s frozen, his hand locked on one of the top corners of the colorful Playboy and he’s staring at me; our faces are only a few inches from each other’s and I can see my wide blue eyes reflected in the lenses of his glasses._

_“I-uh-er,” he stammers, still frozen, still gripping the magazine by the corner. “Got it from one of my roommate’s.” Then he takes a deep breath and his eyes flutter closed. “Don’t tell Dad, okay?” he asks plaintively._

_“What?! Are you kidding?!” I gasp and cross my heart over the Iron Man motif on my black tee. “No way Sammy! Your secret is safe with me!”_

_I start to laugh as he sighs and my eyes lower once more to the glossy pages of the magazine he’s been hiding._

_He’s still holding it but his fingers have loosened a bit and I can tell he’s watching me, thoughtfully._

_“Uh Sam?” I ask, my voice quiet and really pretty timid. He stills and I glance up to see the calculation in his eyes. I smile, a little uncertainly, and glance back at the book I’m holding. The page is open to a couple tangled together on a beach towel, the woman all legs and boobs (once again_ way _too big to be real) and I am suddenly struck by the desire to experiment. “Can we-can we uh…Can we try this?” I stammer, my cheeks flaming._

 _Sam snorts and I glance up at him with a frown. “Oh, you’re serious?” he sputters when my frown turns into a glare. “Uh…well…I don’t know Jacqui. This is…uh. Haven’t you…Haven’t you, you_ know _, before now?”_

_I snort and toss the magazine over the edge of the bed before sitting up onto my knees. “Duh, no,” I snap. “I go to an all-girl’s boarding school Samuel Wilson Rhodes!”_

_“Military school,” he grumbles as he shoves his glasses up his nose nervously and shuffles away from my suddenly defensive position at the foot of his bed._

_“Yeah, yeah,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Mr. Military Academy. So, what do you say Sammy? Can we try what they were doing in that book?”_

_I’m suddenly excited, thrilled at the prospect of doing something so daring with a boy and I know Mom would be scandalized and Rhodey would be pissed and Dad would just laugh but I’m not one to let an idea go easily._

_“Come on Sammy,” I beg, my bottom lip poking out a bit as I affect my best puppy-dog look. “Just once?”_

_And he finally sighs after a long moment of staring at my lips and batting eyelashes._

_“Fine._ Fine _, Jacqueline,” he grumbles as he shuffles on his knees back towards me. “Just once. And you will never tell anyone about this_ ever _, do you hear me?”_

_I nod and bounce on my knees until his hands settle on my shoulders and he sighs._

_“Hold still you monster,” he grumbles._

_He’s hesitating, his head cocked and his hands on my shoulders and I’m all fluttery nerves I’ve never felt before in my lower belly. The sun washes over him, making his unusual eyes sparkle and he’s really just a silhouette with the sunset at his back._

_He’s actually kind of handsome, I realize suddenly and something like an electric shock darts up my spine at the thought;_ add that to the list of new things Jack Stark learned over her spring break, _I think wryly._ Maybe I’ll actually have something to write about in composition class now, besides ideas for improvements to the Iron Man suit. I’ll title the essay “How I Discovered My Best Friend is Kind of Super Hot.”

 _“Sammy?” I whisper a little uncertainly but he shakes his head. “Just shut up Jack,” he growls and then his wide palms (kind of clammy,_ gross _) are clasping my cheeks and he’s pressing his lips against mine._

_It’s stiff and unusual and weird…_

_But also kind of good._

_I relax my lips against his and he hesitates for just a second before softening his hold on my cheeks so that he’s cupping instead of grabbing and I gasp when I feel his lips suck against my bottom one._

_It’s messy, there’s more drool than there really should be, I think._

_But it’s…still good._

_Before I know what’s happening my hands are rising to twist into his plain grey shirt and I’m pulling myself up so I can deepen the kiss and our mouths, suddenly synchronized, suddenly knowing, open and his tongue is just starting to brush my lips when…_

_“Ermf, Sam!” I mumble. “’M shtuck!”_

_His eyes snap open and he tries to jerk away from me. Which of course doesn’t work._

_“Nooo! ‘M shtuck ‘oo!” he wails and we stare at each other for a moment before bursting into hysterical laughter._

_We’re laughing so hard, our hands tangled in each other’s shirts, our bodies pressed against each other’s and our lips locked thanks to the braces we each wear, we don’t hear the door open…_

“And the first thing I notice are Sam’s hands around Jack, who’s laughing like a goddamn hyena and I remember thinking, ‘well this is it, time for the actual talk now! Must really be a Stark conspiracy!’”

Rhodey’s voice snaps me back to the present and I jump slightly when I realize he’s told Steve the story while I’ve drifted off, my face cradled in my open palm against the couch armrest.

Steve’s chuckling, tears running from his eyes and he asks as I sit up and shake my hair out of my eyes, “You two locked braces while kissing?!”

“Yes they did, the goons,” Rhodey says with a shake of his head. “Took the orthodontist over an hour to untangle them. And both were in tears by the time it was over. I had to alternate ice-packs on their lips for a day.”

He’s patting my feet as he finishes his story and I smile slightly, suddenly exhausted and more than a little on-edge with yet another memory I’ve struggled to keep locked down drifting back through my consciousness. I can almost smell Sam, musky and warm and my skin starts to crawl at the faint memory.

Then Rhodey shifts a bit and that musky smell washes over my nose fiercely and it takes all I have not to scream or gag.

He smells like Sam. His voice is just like Sam’s. He’s too much like Sam.

 _Too soon, too much_ , I think as I yank my feet from his grip and slide off the couch to make my way back to the computers.

Neither man notices my sudden panic and Steve, still chuckling at whatever version of Sam’s and my first kiss Rhodey’s told him, says, “No wonder you two were so perfect for each other. Braces…”

Both men freeze, their eyes widening, as I slam my hands on the desk and groan; my knees buckle and it takes all I have not to crumple to the floor.

“Jacqui,” Steve says softly, half rising from his chair as I start to shake to pieces over Dad’s computers. “Are you o-“

“Get out,” I hiss, my eyes closed tightly in agony and my very skin shuddering as I fight to keep calm; I can almost sense Rhodey’s hand hovering over my shoulder and I snarl, more feral than human. “Both of you, get out NOW!”

I don’t know if they do.

I don’t notice anything.

All I smell is Sam.

All I hear is _Sam_.

 _Sammy_ , my mind whispers over and over again as I sag into the chair and bury my face in my hands, my cheeks wet with tears. _Sammy please…_

 _We should try that again Jack, when we don’t have braces_ , he muttered that night from his sprawled position on the living room couch. _I think we almost had it…_

I smiled from my armchair and lifted the ice-pack from my lips. _I’m game if you are_ , I said with a laugh.

I would never forget that afternoon’s electric shock up my spine or the butterflies dancing in my belly.

All from that boy’s touch.

 _Never_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some trigger warnings may apply.
> 
> Somebody gets blown to smithereens in this chapter.
> 
> And Jack gets a little scary...
> 
> -M

My parents have been missing for forty-eight hours.

But there has been no message from their captors, no sign other than that shoe and that pin, that they are even gone.

I don’t know what to make of it.

So I go to work.

I’m at Dad’s drafting table, working on plans for a new arc reactor, when JARVIS alerts me someone is heading in my direction.

“Miss Stark,” he says, his voice cautious and I pause in the process of throwing yet another scrap hologram of my silver arc in the virtual trash can across the room, to glance at the security footage on the computer screens.

“Major Danvers is en-route,” he says as I study Carol’s slow approach down the twisted stairs towards the workshop. “Shall I admit her?” he continues and I hesitate for a moment before following through. There’s a cheerful ding as the hologram arc sweeps into the trash can and I chuckle despite myself.

 _Only you, Dad_ , I think before turning back to the table covered in equations, 3-D designs drawn in fine blue lines and more tech designs than the Stark Resilient R&D department has ever dreamt up.

“Let her in in a moment J,” I mutter and I swipe my fingers over the table’s screen, erasing any trace of the work I’m doing. “Give me a chance to hide this stuff.” Within seconds the table is black and the four arc reactor blueprints I’ve been studying are back in their encrypted safe-files, snug in Dad’s private server.

There’s no sign that I’m attempting to make my own Iron Man suit or that I’m reworking Dad’s designs into a more compatible arc reactor a run-of-the-mill human can use.

No sign that I’m getting ready to play the game.

When Carol enters the workshop, after much fussing with JARVIS who’s decided to be extra feisty now that I’ve locked Rhodey and Steve out, I’m sitting at the desk playing a rather thrilling game of chess against the computer; my feet are resting in a tray of ice and my hair is in a messy knot at the top of my head.

“Wow, you’re a mess,” Carol says, her tone as frank as ever. “Have you slept at all since you got to Malibu?”

I shrug and check the king. “Couple hours,” I mutter, my eyes locked on the chessboard and my skin crawling.

She’s watching me.

Closely.

“Uh-huh. God, you Stark’s are impossible,” she grumbles and I glance out the corner of my eye towards where she leans against the desk, her arms folded over her chest and her lips pinched in a look of abject disapproval.

She’d give Pepper Potts a run for her money on the grouchy “you’re in so much trouble, young lady” expression.

I smile despite myself.

She’s in her Captain Marvel uniform, albeit the usual get-up is paired with her battered Air-Force leather jacket and she’s taken off her gloves and boots. Her hair is also a bit windblown, all golden chaos I find I’m still jealous of.

 _Speaking of those who age well_ , I think wryly to myself as I turn my gaze back to my computer.

“What do you need Carol?” I ask, my voice flatly disinterested as I move my last knight in a complicated pattern against JARVIS’s queen; I smile fiercely as the piece is captured and lean back in my chair, my hands busy with the slinky I’ve found hidden in the desk drawers.

The chink and chime of the metal is loud in the workshop and I can tell it’s irritating the noble hero at my side.

She’s still watching me and her blue eyes almost seem to shine with a golden light I haven’t seen for five years; I continue to avoid her gaze despite her irritation though, which may be a bad idea on my part but then again the past thirty hours have just been one bad idea after another. Might as well go out with a bang then.

“Are you going to help us Jack?” she finally blurts, her voice frustrated and her hands clenched into tight little balls against her ribcage. “I mean, Steve and Teddy worked their asses off to get you out of Rykers! The least you could do is be civil with us and help look for your parents! We didn’t set you free just so you could-could _skulk_ down here in Tony’s workshop!”

I’ve stilled during her little rant, my fingers clenched tight on the slinky’s rounded edges and I can almost feel my skin tightening dangerously along the lines of my skull.

I blink a sheen of red from my eyes and say as calmly as I can, through clenched jaws, “I didn’t ask to be let out of Rykers Carol. I didn’t want to be let go.”

She snorts and takes a step in my direction ( _bad move,_ I hiss to myself as she leans towards me) “Yeah? Well guess what Stark?” she growls, her finger poking me firmly in my shoulder. “You’re here now, so you might as well buck-up and help. I’m sure once Tony’s back you can go back to your cell in Rykers.”

My nostril’s flare as I take a sharp breath and my ears ring with the venom in her voice.

This is not like Carol; she used to be authoritative, sure, but this is almost…

 _Cruel_.

And I’ve had enough of it all. Her finger is still digging into my shoulder almost like she’s making sure I know how truly pissed she is at me.

As if I could miss that.

“Back off Danvers,” I growl and suddenly I’m face-to-face with her, my hands clenched at my sides; she’s glaring, her eyes more gold than blue now and I’m irritated.

_This is not what I need right now. I do not need to face off with a pissy Kree warrior. I don’t need her breathing down my neck. I do not need any more doubt about my presence in this house, on this team._

_I don’t need her._

“Yeah?” she snaps, her head cocking a bit as she looms over me. “What are you going to do Stark? Hit me?” she says and there’s nothing but cold laughter in her voice. Her eyes are flat, full of disappointment and disgust, her fists raised before me. “Go on,” she hisses. “Take a swing Stark. Your Dad never could, bet you can’t either.”

And before I know what’s even happening, before I can even stop myself, my left hand is tangled in her hair and one of my Dad’s little toys is being pressed against her jugular.

I remember him calling it a para-arc; basically a miniaturized taser capable of taking out a super strong opponent.

Like a gamma-irradiated scientist.

Or a god. Or three.

I don’t remember slipping it into my jeans pocket while going through the desk drawers earlier. I can’t even remember moving in her direction.

All I know is I’m snarling, my vision is red and Carol Danvers is pale, her hand resting against my throat; I can feel the sharp hum of her powers, barely restrained, dancing over my collarbones and the jolt is enough to make my heart stammer in my ribcage.

“What are you going to do to me, Carol?” I say through clenched jaws. She and I are the same height, something I’d forgotten while in Rykers, and she’s on her tiptoes, trying to put as much distance between the para-arc I’m holding and her neck. “Hmm?” I hum and I edge closer, my left foot sliding behind her right in a move James Barnes taught me long ago. I don’t take her out yet. I can wait. “You came down here for a reason. Were you hoping to provoke me enough so Steve could see how truly insane the little Stark princess is? Huh? Was that your plan?”

She’s glaring at me and I can almost see her trying to decide whether or not to blast my ass all the way back to the Kree home-world.

I snort and before she can even blink I’ve released her and shoved the para back into my pocket; I walk away from her towards the kitchenette, my steps lurching and unsteady as I try to not put too much pressure on my wounds. “Get out Marvel,” I say, suddenly exhausted, from my slumped position against the counter. “I don’t need you pushing me back into the shadows. I’m already doing a good enough job of that myself.”

She’s quiet for a moment and I can almost sense her letting her powers go; the air itself eases and my hair no longer feels like it’s going to lift off my skull to drift over the ceiling.

“We have to know if you’re going to actually help us Jack,” she says finally, her voice stiff. Cold. Calculating. “We have to know you’re on our side.”

I pause in the process of pouring a cup of coffee for myself and frown. “I’m not on any side, Carol,” I mutter, more to myself than her. “I-I can’t choose sides. Not anymore.”

“What?!” she snaps and the shock in her voice is what snaps me back to reality. I turn, mug of Joe in hand as she says, “What did you say?!”

And I sigh.

“Ease up goldie,” I grumble as I sag onto the couch and pull my feet up under me. They’re aching horribly and I am probably not helping them heal by walking on them but what can I do? I’m not using crutches…

“I will say this once Carol, just once, so feel free to pass it on,” I say after a careful sip of the black coffee I hold. She’s standing before me, arms folded once more and legs spread. She’s furious, all golden anger and she’s stunning.

I remember when she taught me to fly on my twenty-first birthday.

My lips twitch in a small smile at the memory of my hands on the small bi-plane’s wheel and I sigh. She’d rented it just for the day, pulled me out of SR offices without telling my mother or the board what we were doing and blindfolded me so I wouldn’t find out what she was up to until we’d arrived at the airport.

 _No one should spend their twenty-first in a pant suit, listening to grouchy old guys complain about money!_  she’d crowed as she’d pulled me out of the car and whipped my blindfold off.

That Carol is long-gone though, just as distant as that happy little Jacqueline Stark.

“I said I won’t choose sides Carol,” I say as I lower my gaze back to my coffee, “because the last time I chose a side I ended up killing eleven men. I played a madman’s game according to his rules and it got eleven men killed and then in the end my actions killed my husband. So you see? Choosing anything is not an option for me. Not anymore.” I sigh and rub the mug against my forehead for a moment, its heady heat soothing against the pounding of my temples and she’s staring at me, stunned into surprised silence.

“But Jacqui,” she says after a moment, and she’s suddenly the old Carol I remember. Wholly Captain Marvel and I can’t help being relieved. I always hated fighting with this woman; it’d always felt so _wrong_.

She swallows and then places her hand gently on my shoulder, saying, “Sam’s d-“

“Stop,” I snap, my eyes flying upwards to meet hers. And I shrug her hand off. “Just stop Carol. Let me pay as I see fit, as well as I can. Respect it or leave. You have no other option.”

She moves out of my way as I rise and make my painful way back to the computers. She follows though and says as I ease back into my chair, “Are you even looking for them?” she asks.

I sigh and flick my finger across computer screen just to my left. “What do you think?” I whisper as JARVIS pulls up everything I’ve been doing for the search of Tony Stark and his wife. “I’ve been cross-referencing everything Stane touched in the past forty years. Everything that even smells of Stane. I don’t think this is Ezekiel. I know he’s dead. But someone’s using his suit or a similar version of his suit since I broke the original. So I’m seeing who he may have…”

“Influenced?” she finishes for me, her face only inches from the screen and I nod. “This-this is impressive, Jack,” she says as she starts digging into the rather sordid history of the Stane family.

“Yeah,” I mutter as I turn my gaze from the family who stood against the Stark’s more times than we cared to remember to the video showing my parent’s disappearance. I'm having JARVIS de-frag it and purify the pixels, just to see if I can find an identifying feature of the bastard who is toying with us this time.

It’s slow going.

The Avenger’s Tower had some pretty impressive tech, but this particular security cam (the lone survivor) just isn’t cutting it. I’ll make a point to let Dad know when we get him back.

If we get him back.

 _We will_ , I tell myself, not as confident as I should be. _We will…_

“Carol,” I ask after a few moments of silence. “Why aren’t you guys based in New York? What about the Tower? Or the Mansion?”

Dad had rebuilt the Stark family home after the War. The place had practically burned to the ground but he’d made a point of fixing it up and restoring it. If Howard had still been alive it would have looked just the same as when he’d walked the halls.

As for the Tower…

Well that was Dad’s baby through-and-through. Just like this house was Mom’s. And the Seattle mansion was theirs.

_No place for little Jacqui, though…_

The idle thought drifts through my subconscious before I can stop it and I shiver. _How can I still remember Ezekiel Stane’s voice? How?! It’s been five years._

_Why is he still talking to me?_

“Jack?”

I jump and jerk my eyes back to Carol; she’s giving me the calculating, concerned look again. As if she expects me to go Jack the Ripper on everyone.

I’m getting sick of that look.

“Sorry,” I mutter and I rub my collar bones nervously. “Got lost in my head. I’m still getting used to being around people. What did you say?”

She’s quiet for a moment, considering me. Almost as if she’s debating with herself to take me out once-and-for-all and just get this farce over with.

Trust Carol to be the practical one.

But she sighs and rests against the desk. “I said the Tower got blasted with the attack on Tony and Pepper. Peter and Tigra are overseeing its repairs. As for the Mansion…” she sighs again and runs her hands through her hair. “We can’t get in.”

I frown for a moment, thinking, and then I remember a piece of my tech my father had been extremely keen on adapting for his use. I would be willing to bet every last penny of our fortune that that was why the Avengers couldn’t touch the Stark family home.

“The bio-guards” I breathe and I can’t resist a smile. “He put those in the gates didn’t he?”

She’s watching me extremely carefully now and her frown deepens. “What-what are you talking about Jack?” she asks, her voice curious despite herself and I grin.

“It’s something I designed, something I was playing with while in R&D that last year,” I explain as I turn back to the computers and begin searching JARVIS’s database for the bio-guards information. I find it after a quick minute of scans. “I’d actually started working on it while in high school,” I continue with a chuckle as the image of the tiny circular device, about the size of my cupped palm, appears on the screen. Carol’s eyes widen. “I guess you could say it’s a super-powered air-lock. Only those with the genetic code programmed into the locks can get into the thing you place them on.”

She glances at me and I shrug.

“Dad removed the locks on my doors when I hit puberty,” I explain with a smirk. “I tended to lock him when he wanted to have ‘talks’ about my future.”

“So those-that’s why we can’t get into the Mansion,” she says, a small smile on her face. “Tony took your designs, programmed as per his desires and locked the Mansion up. Huh.”

I nod as I lean back in my chair, my eyes locked on the spinning circle I designed one afternoon in ninth grade and perfected when I turned twenty. It’s smaller than the original, about as thick as a pancake. Easily hidden. Very Tony Stark.

I shake my head and finish my last sip of coffee before saying, “It was a good idea. There’s a lot of tech and weaponry hidden beneath that house. And history. He would want to keep it as locked down as possible. I’m surprised the other compounds don’t have them.” I close the bio-guard’s data sheets but before I can do much else, her phone chimes.

We both jump and suddenly it’s not as tense as it was when she first arrived in my cave. She smiles, gently now, and pulls her phone from her jacket pocket. It’s a Stark design, like most of the Avenger’s phones are I’m sure and I wonder if it’s one of my pet projects.

Phones had been one of my favorite things to toy with on slow afternoons in R&D. I’d created more models and apps than any in the company; mostly just to annoy my father and to keep myself busy.

Not that it had stopped him or his team from using my creations.

Money, after all, is money.

_Good ole Dad, playing with the tech even when it isn’t his._

There’s no malice in the thought; he had every right to use my tech. I left it all in Stark Resilient’s database.

Fair game and all that…

“What?!”

Carol’s shriek jerks me back to reality and my skin crawls at the look of horror on her face.

“And you let him into the house?” she snaps. “Dammit Rogers!” She glances at me as whoever it is on the other end of the line, probably Steve, says something. “Yeah, yeah, okay. She’s here with me now. We’ll be right up.”

I frown as she’s hanging up but before I have a chance to ask what's happened, if there's been news about my parents, she’s grabbing my elbow and hauling me out of my chair.

“Come on Stark, you’re needed,” she snarls and I consider struggling for one brief moment.

But then I feel the warm static of her fingers and decide now is not the time.

“What’s going on Carol?” I ask, my voice mild as she throws open the workshop door and begins dragging me up the stairs. “What’s happened?”

She doesn’t respond right away. She’s seething; I can almost smell the anger on her. Whatever’s happened, she’s barely holding on.

“Carol…”

She doesn’t even look at me.

And then we’re in the living room.

The very full living room.

And my, how the family has Assembled in their time of need.

My eyes dart around the cavernous space, taking in the colorful array of my parent’s friends and colleagues sitting and leaning on their furniture and for a moment I start to panic.

There are a lot of angry, masked faces here this evening...

Logan’s smoking on the balcony but he comes in the moment Carol and I arrive; Jennifer is standing near the foyer in a light grey suit, her green skin shimmering in the late Malibu sunlight and her fingers fly over the screen of her phone; a briefcase sits at her feet. Jessica and Luke, sans Danielle, are standing near Steve; he smiles when he sees me and Jessica twiddles her fingers in my direction. The other Jessica is leaning against Carol who has moved over to the couch now that I’m presented; her eyes are distrustful, which is nothing unusual but at least she’s curled against Carol and not curling her fingers into my eyeballs.

So many…

Even the Young Avengers are here, Clint in their midst; the Hawkeye’s are sitting on a couch together with Teddy and Billy, Noh-Varr and America standing over them with cool expressions of disinterest on their faces.

And there are more, faces I haven’t seen since I was in my teens.

 _Too much, too much_ , my mind screams as I catalogue heroes and store information as to who exactly is in my parent's home. _Run-run-run_.

I don’t run though. I’m tired. And my feet hurt.

I don’t think I’d get very far, all things considered.

“What’s going on?” I say, my voice calm despite my racing heart and the crawling of my skin. “What’s happened?”

Twenty pairs of eyes settle on me and it takes me a moment to realize that there is someone standing at the very center of the room.

Someone I don’t know.

“Miss Stark?”

My eyes flick from Natasha’s furious glare to the person who’s spoken and I frown. The man is tiny in comparison to the superheroes he’s surrounded by and he obviously knows it. He’s dressed in a suit, rumpled and grimy and he’s wearing glasses. His hair (toupee) is combed to the side and is a darker shade of black than his eyebrows and mustache.

He’s staring at me like he’s seen the dead risen.

“M-miss Jacqueline Stark?” he stammers, his tiny, pudgy hands tightening around the envelope he holds. “Y-you’re-“

“Yes,” I snap, my jaw tight and my head pounding as I fight my sudden irritation at being here, surrounded by people I don’t want to talk to. “I’m Stark. Who are you and what do you want?”

I have no time for this. For whatever this is.

He jumps at my fierce growl and glances in Steve’s direction; the Captain is leaning against the piano where Rhodey sits, up near the wide long wall of windows, and both men are very un-amused. He gestures with his hand to the little man, who jumps and hands the envelope he holds in my direction.

“I-I have a message for you, from my employer,” he says, his watery blue eyes wide as I stalk closer to him and snatch the wide, plain, manila envelope from his fingers.

There’s no address written on it.

No sign of who…

“Who’s your employer?” I ask, my voice flat. The envelope is heavy and my fingers clench tightly around the circular object contained within.

I try not to think of what it could be.  

The possibilities are endless.

Except...

Not really.  

 _Oh God, please no_ , I think desperately.   _Who's heart did you send me? Mom's or Dad's?_

Anger, white-hot and bloodstained, washes over me and all I feel is the strong desire to smash this bastard's face into the curved surface of Captain America's shield.

I open the envelope instead.

And stare at the opening move my tormenter has provided me.

And what a move it is...

“I am not supposed to say,” mouse-man whispers and he’s pale and sweating now. His eyes lock on me with the sort of awe reserved for children meeting their heroes for the first time.

And people who have grown up hearing stories...

“You work for Stane, don’t you?” I snarl; before he can protest or back away from me, my hand is wrapped around his tie and I reel him in so he is mere inches from my face. My nostrils flare at the sour smell of fear on him, but there’s something else there too.

Something that reminds me of dark shadows and blood.

I almost gag and haul him up on his tiptoes; his piggy eyes bug as I bare my teeth in his face and he whimpers as I hiss, “I can _smell_ him on you.”

The envelope falls from my fingers, my present open for those assembled to see; it rolls free, all tangled wires and the kind of tech countries and politicians would _kill_ for.

A madman  _has_ killed for.

But I could care less.

I have mouse-man to take care of.

I shake the man who came here to toy with me, to initiate the _fucking game_ and no one moves to stop me, even as he whimpers and sobs and tells me _No, no, please don’t! It’s not what you th-_

All of the heroes are standing now.

And they’ve shifted positions, leaving the windows clear.

It’s a clear shot…

There’s a familiar sound of shattering glass, screams of _Everybody down!_ and then that nightmare spawning sound of a high caliber bullet smacking through bone, tissue and brain matter.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m no longer holding a man.

I’m holding a corpse.

There’s blood dripping from my hair onto my collar bones and between my breasts once more.

“Huh, that’s a fucking good sniper,” James Barnes says from his position in the kitchen doorway; he hasn’t moved and his cold-grey eyes settle on me as my fingers spring free of mouse-man’s pretty much headless body to wipe blood and brains from my eyes.

Clint Barton agrees from where he crouches, huddled over Kate Bishop who’s grumbling about blood on her favorite Caroline Rieze dress.

My eyes are locked on the game piece at my feet, blood soaked from its bearer’s draining body, but the silver metal shines through the gore and my brain won’t stop, even now.

As Steve hurries to my side I look up at my shocked and slightly gore spattered family and say, “Not now Steve. I-I have to think-shower-get out. Just…give me a moment.”

And then I grab the bloody envelope and its prize and I limp from the room.

None of them have a chance to respond.

None of them know how this game is going to play out.

And I mean to keep it that way.

My eyes never leave the silver arc reactor I've been sent, even as I shower and begin to scrub the gore and grime from my skin.

I never stop thinking _Who?_ and  _How much time do I have?_

As I step from the steam, wrapped in a towel, my black hair streaming clean and fragrant around my shoulders I kneel to touch the note my tormentor wrote just for me.

 _Dearest little Jacqui_ , he wrote in an archaic typewriter font ( _Oh do try to be mysterious, love_ , I think wryly as I wipe congealed blood from the pads of my fingers on the pristine marble tile. _JARVIS can play your game as well as I can_ ),  _Your mother sends her love._

_Play the game._

_Ever yours._

_E.S._

I smile and straighten, letting the towel fall from my torso.

“Oh I’ll play,” I whisper as I step over the envelope and make my way towards my closet. “But it may not end up being the game you’ve chosen, I’m afraid.”

I only play my games now, games I design and know I can win.

I learned my lesson last time.

And besides...

Neither of my parent's arc's were ever silver.


	8. Chapter 8

No one knows Tony Stark and Pepper Potts are missing.

Not even the Stark Resilient board.

“You haven’t told them that my parents are gone?!”

My voice echoes around the elegant mahogany bookshelves we are surrounded by and more than a few of the remaining superheroes flinch. There are only ten now, the rest vacated the moment our mysterious message boy exploded over the white patent leather couches in the living room.

According to Steve they’re hunting down some of the Stane family’s known affiliates and, well, using _persuasion_ to leverage information. I would be interested if I wasn’t frustrated with all of them.

I should be in the workshop analyzing the mystery arc I’ve been sent, searching for any clues as to who has started the game. I should be working on the Bluebird. I should be doing countless things.

None of which are taking care of Stark Resilient in my parent’s absence.

I glance at the holographic keyboard under my fingers absently and type out a command for JARVIS alone.

 _I’m not the only one in this house capable of studying that tech_ , I think as JARVIS responds with a silent affirmative and initiates scans on the arc currently resting on my father’s drafting table.

I’m still furious with the superheroes sitting before me though. Still confused as to how they could do this to my parents.

“How could you not tell the board?!” I snap, as I raise my eyes to glare dangerously at Steve Rogers and Rhodey. We’re in the barely used study again, since the living room’s had a fresh paintjob, and I’m standing behind Dad’s desk, arms folded over my chest now that the desk’s surface is once more blank. I’m clean and my hair tumbles down my back in damp twists and curls; I’m wearing clothes that sort of fit.

Everything’s loose now, nothing fits quite the way it used too.

 _There’s a metaphor about my life in here somewhere_ , I think idly as my jeans slip a bit over my hipbones.

I imagine I can still feel blood dripping over my collarbones to trail between my breasts, even though I spent twenty minutes scrubbing my skin raw in my cavernous shower; that’s something I will never be free of I suspect, the feel of blood dripping over my skin.

My fingers rise to press against my bones and I sigh. “We’re going to have to tell them. They’ll start suspecting something is wrong; Mom never goes this long without communicating with the president at the very least.”

I’m starting to panic; I can’t believe they didn’t think to alert SR. The media, I can understand. But the _board_?! Those people control the company; they control my family in many ways.

_What are they thinking?_

“We’ve taken care of it Jacqui,” Steve says, his voice calm and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. He’s smiling, like my panicked irritation is amusing for him.

Which, of course, sets me off. “Oh?” I ask, my jaw clenched and my fingers digging into my collar now. “What’d you tell them, that Mom and Dad are off in the Bahamas taking some personal time?”

My tone is mocking and there’s a faint hint of red in the corners of my vision; I’m barely holding on, barely controlling my anger and all I want to do is knock the great Captain America’s skull against War Machine’s.

Maybe then some sense would be knocked into their stubborn heads.

They shift in their chairs and I hear Jennifer Walters sigh. My eyes shift from the two heroes sitting before me to the other’s gathered and I groan.

“You didn’t,” I mutter as I bury my face in my hands. “Please tell me you didn’t tell the board, the _Stark Resilient board_ , appointed personally by my mother and father, that they’ve decided spur of the moment to drop all responsibilities and go off for a v _acation_!”

Steve glances at Rhodey and shrugs. “It seemed to be the right-“

“Don’t you dare say the ‘right idea at the time,’ Steve Rogers,” I snap and my hands fall from my face. “ _Don’t_. This is not Stark Enterprises anymore, this is not Howard Stark’s company that a wild Tony Stark just inherited from the bottom of a whiskey bottle! This is _Stark Resilient_.”

I’m furious because all I see before me is disinterest; these people work with my parents, they’ve known them for _decades_. Sat with my father in AA meetings, held my mother’s hand when he disappeared, helped changed my diapers when they were overwhelmed by heroing and parenting.

These people are their family.

They should know what my father’s company is for the Stark’s.

What it means.

“You don’t understand,” I sputter, shocked. I sag into the leather desk chair and rest my head in my palm for a moment, my fingers fisting into my hair. “Oh my God…”

“Jacqui,” Carol begins but I wave her words away. “Shut up,” I snap and I try to push the red film from my vision. “Shut up, I’m thinking.”

They’re quiet for a bare minute, watching me huddle into my father’s chair and then Rhodey speaks up, his deep voice striving to be calm, “Jack, we knew we had to alert the board that something was up but we didn’t expect them to understand what’s really happening with your parents.”

I shake my head and sigh. “You don’t understand Rhodey. These are people my parent’s trust irrevocably. Some of them have been with this company since the very beginning. They’ve seen the company fall, they’ve seen the name change, and they’ve seen my father spill blood to keep it up and running. And the president…”

My voice peters off and I shiver.

Memories of the last time I faced the man and the board thunder through my mind and I cringe.

_Miss Stark if you refuse to accommodate this board, to work within our guidelines, then we will strike you from the company’s roster. And nothing your parents say can change our rulings._

His voice writhes through my skull and for a brief moment I’m once more a drunk twenty-two year old heiress getting scolded in an opulent penthouse office by a man twice as old as my father and far more bloodthirsty.

_Kincaid…God, how could I forget him? Forget his cold black eyes and keen mind for business._

“Maxwell Kincaid knows the Stark’s better than anyone, better than most of you. He’s going to know something is wrong. We’re going to have to stall him before he takes action,” I finish weakly before rising and making my careful way around the desk.

I have to fix this before the board comes winging in and my parent’s lose their company again.

I don’t need that guilt on my shoulders as well.

All of the heroes have risen with me, save Jennifer and Stephen Strange; I don’t even remember him arriving but knowing the sorcerer he simply popped in using the astral plane or something.

Dad never could figure out a way to stop the magic-users from accessing his home.

Our eyes lock and he asks, “What do you plan on doing Jacqueline?”

There is dark knowledge in his eyes and power.

Power I know twice over now and I wonder what exactly he found while he scrolled through my mind yesterday.

Since I’m standing here now, before gods and heroes alike…

Well, I would say it wasn’t all bad but that may be a little too optimistic.

After a moment of intense staring and some frenzied last-minute planning, I sigh and turn from him to the gathered heroes at my back.

“Jennifer, I’m going to need you to call the board,” I say quietly as my fingers tap-tap away on my tattoos. Her green eyes, a shade darker than her skin, glitter from behind her glasses and her lips lift in a knowing smile. I smile back and fold my arms over my chest before continuing, “Gather as many of them as you can; they should all be in LA anyway. Mom was going to have a board meeting here this week. If Kincaid isn’t in the city, wait till he gets here. There’s no point without him,” I rub my forehead for a moment, still thinking. Luckily for all assembled, Mom made sure Dad always had a copy of her calendar with him at all times, on every interface. And JARVIS is more her secretary than Dad’s at this point anyway.

I know exactly where each of them were supposed to be every day this week.

Which just makes their absence all the worse, really.

Jennifer nods, her dark hair shimmering in the setting sun’s light and I sigh. I don’t know when in the past five years she joined Dad’s company, but seeing her now is nothing but reassuring, especially since she was always the most level-headed of the group.

I glance at Rhodey as she leaves the room, her phone already at her ear, her mellow voice humming over us as she exits. _Susan, get me Kincaid please and head to SR. We’re going to need to open the largest conference hall…_

“You’re still a trustee, right?” I ask Rhodey and he nods. “Good. I’m going to need you.” I glance from Steve to Carol to James Barnes standing in the shadows and sigh. “I’m going to need the Captains and Barnes too.”

Carol frowns and glances at Jessica at her side. “What for exactly? Some of us are joining up with the West Coast Avengers to continue looking for Tony and Pepper.”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about that now. We’re going to change the game a bit,” I mutter and my eyes flash once more to the sorcerer at my side.

He’s studying me carefully now and as our eyes meet he smiles.

“You’re very much like your father you know, Miss Stark,” he says and he bows with a faint whisper of his cloak.

Before I have a chance to respond, he vanishes and I’m left with about a hundred more questions.

And some very confused superheroes.

“What are you planning Jacqueline?” Jessica Drew asks, her eyes more distrusting than before; I’m glad I didn’t ask her to come with me. I don’t need her doubt to go along with my own.

“We’re going to have a press conference,” I say with a sigh as I turn back to them; Carol’s glaring once more and Steve’s eyebrows are so far up his brow they’ve blended in with his hair. “We’re going to talk to the board, tell them as much of the truth as we can and then we’re going to have a little talk with the vultures.”

“ _Tonight_?!” Steve sputters, disbelief in every line of his body.

Rhodey’s eyes narrow a bit and I smile.

“Yeah,” I say softly, my fingers resting gently on the bluebird feathers on my skin and suddenly I know what I need to do.

I know how to turn this sick game of life-or-death to my favor.

“We’re doing this tonight because if there’s one thing a Stark can do well, it’s wreaking havoc on the status quo. Besides,” I mutter, half to myself and half to the others, “this may flush some players out of the woodwork.”

James Barnes understands immediately what I’m thinking of.

“You think there’s someone in SR involved in this,” he says, his voice blunt and his cold eyes knowing.

I fight off a shiver and nod.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I mutter as I turn back to the door. “This is a Stark company after all.”

The door closes behind me and I take a deep breath before heading to my room and my closet full of business clothes I used to loathe but now think of as armor.

Armor against the shadows of my father’s company.

“I don’t want to go back,” I whisper to myself.

**

It’s not until I’m walking out of my closet clothed in a softly draped sky blue shirt and light gray suit pants with Icarus at my heels, his arm draped in discarded blouses and skirts, that I realize this may not have been my best idea.

For one thing I’ve been gone, out of the circuit for five years. I have no idea what’s happened in the company in those five years. I have no idea what Stark Resilient even _does_ anymore.

I have no idea what’s been said of my absence.

“Well Icky,” I mutter to the bot who’s humming gently at my feet, his claw extended and a pair of sky-blue heels (my favorite, once-upon-a-time) dangling from his grip. “Time to go back into the fray, eh?”

I bend to take the shoes from him and smile as he purrs under my stroking fingers.

“First, though,” I mutter, half to myself and half to my new little friend. “I think I need to take care of my feet once and for all. JARVIS?” I call as I straighten.

“Yes Miss Stark?” he replies, punctual as ever.

I smile and limp towards my door; Icarus follows, much like a sappy puppy dog. I let him.

“Please tell me Dad has a supply of Compound 41 squirreled away somewhere on the premises,” I mutter as I peek out of my door and glance up and down the hall, checking to make sure the coast is clear.

I don’t want to run into the resident heroes. Not yet.

JARVIS is quiet for a moment, most likely processing my request and considering if it is in some way a breech of his protocols.

I wait patiently, part of me hoping the Compound is in the workshop.

But another part of me knowing it would never be that easy.

This is Tony Stark after all. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner.

“Yes Miss Stark,” the computer says after a moment, his voice slightly sluggish, as if he’s struggling with overriding commands. “A container of said compound is in residence.”

My brow arches and I glance down at the bot whirring beside me before easing into the hall and heading in the direction of the main house.

“Okay J,” I say quietly. “So where is it?”

He’s quiet for another breath of a moment and just as I reach the living room entryway he says, “Sir and Madam’s bedroom, Miss Stark.”

And I sigh.

“Of course it is,” I whisper. I glance to my side and smile wryly at the sight of a claw extended in my direction, a scarf dangling from the bot’s fingers; I take it from him and wrap it around my neck. He purrs happily at the sight and executes a quick little spin. I pat his claw with a soft chuckle. “Okay Icky, let’s go hunting.”

And I head towards my parent’s room.

Only the bot at my heels and my father’s computer see how shaky I am at the thought of going near the place.

**

“Miss Stark, there is no one within the room. You may enter.”

I jump at JARVIS’s gentle nudging and swallow heavily. “I know the room’s empty J,” I mutter to the AI but I don’t push their door open.

Instead I shoot a glance in Icarus’s direction (he’s managed to drape one of my faded concert t-shirts over his claw and arm now. Where he’s finding the clothes, I really don’t know) and I sigh.

“It’s ridiculous to be scared right?” I ask the little bot. He twists his claw at me and clicks it just once, which could be an affirmative or could just be him asking if I want his shirt to go with the scarf and shoes he’s already provided. I chuckle and adjust the shirt a bit so he’s actually wearing it; I make sure it doesn’t trail over his wheels and his claw spins and clicks in happiness. “I mean, seriously, it’s not like there’s even going to be anything in the room. They obviously haven’t spent that much time in this house. They’ve probably been splitting their time between New York and Tokyo. I’m just being silly, right Icky?”

I pat his claw and then sigh as he nips at my fingers gently; given a week, this little bot will become more intelligent than a common sweeper.

I should deactivate him before I ruin all of his protocols, make him that much more human. Before I hurt another of my father’s projects.

But I won’t.

I’ve always been the selfish one.

“JARVIS?” I call, my voice weak and my hands cold with my high-racing nerves.

“Yes Miss Stark?” he replies, gently. We’ve been through a lot, Dad’s pet AI and me. We’re going to go through a bit more before all of this is over I suppose.

“Let’s do this,” I mutter and I push my parent’s bedroom door open.

**

Dad has a picture of us on his bedside table.

I’ve been staring at it for almost five minutes, my fingers locked around the wrought iron frame and the dusty glass is smudged now, with my prints.

It’s from the summer he and I stayed in Malibu and did nothing but build robots in the workshop and listen to classic rock. I had him to myself all summer long and it was perfect.

If I remember correctly…

Sammy and I had had a few more kisses since that Spring Break in the Rhodes’ home. And I think our parents were starting to notice.

I certainly started seeing more of him after that little escapade.

“Hello boys,” I mutter and the pad of my thumb runs over his and Dad’s face. Dad has his arms around us and we are all smiles and laughter and greasy skin. I’m holding my favorite robot (you could say it was an Icarus MK I), my hair in hideous pigtails and I'm all braces and smudged cheeks.

Sam’s chin is resting on my head, his nose buried in my hair and I think he’s singing along to _Back in Black_  that's blasting through the workshop speakers.

Dad…

My breath hitches at the dopey grin on his lips and the deep crow’s feet at his eyes. It doesn’t take much to imagine him laughing and singing along with Sam.

“They look so happy,” I mutter, half to myself and half to the robot at my feet. Icky rumbles and nudges me with his claw, almost as if telling me to rise out of my gloom and get on with my life. “Don’t look at me like that,” I grumble.

“Miss Stark? May I suggest you hurry? Captain Rogers wishes to inform you Colonel Rhodes has just departed for Stark Resilient and Jennifer Walters has alerted Major Danvers that the board has been assembled and she’s beginning to inform the media as to your recent reemergence into company doings…”

I sigh at JARVIS’s voice and set the picture down.

“Right, I have a company to tank,” I mutter as I turn away from the picture and the three smiling faces forever memorialized behind a piece of dusty glass. “Where’s the Compound, J?”

“I believe the requested material is within sir’s bathroom,” the AI replies and I smile.

“Course it is,” I mutter to the little bot at my side as I limp towards my parent’s cavernous bathroom. “Okay boys, let’s get these stupid feet of mine fixed up.”

**

Compound 41.

One of my father’s best kept secrets. Only those closest to him, those he trusted whole-heartedly, even know what it is.

Thankfully I do.

Not because Dad trusted me; oh no, that was never an option for me once I reached fifteen and started my freshman year at MIT.

Too many of Dad’s old “colleagues” teach at the school.

And fifteen sort of introduced the media to the wonders that were a Stark wild child.

“You know,” I mutter as Dad’s very impressive hidden medicine cabinet opens up before me. “Bruce was the one who told me about this little miracle.”

I glance down at Icarus, who’s studying me with his claw extended; he’s holding a tube of lipstick I knocked down while going through my parent’s drawers (JARVIS continues to be tricky. I might have to tweak his programming. I’m a Stark but I’ve been gone for five years, he doesn’t know quite how to obey me yet) and I smile before taking the tube.

He rumbles and rubs his claw on my leg, which would be weird if I didn’t know my father and his bots.

“Yeah, good boy,” I mutter as I turn back to the medicine cabinet. I didn’t even know this particular feature existed in my parent’s bathroom; it’s hidden behind the towels, tucked away behind their matching robes. But as the doors slide open and the shelves begin rolling out, I realize it’s not a cabinet so much as a death-trap.

Bandages of my father’s design clutter the shelves, along with medications I would be willing to bet are long expired. Compacts of makeup suited to his skin color (the same as mine) are tossed hither and thither and really…

Well.

“Ugh, what a mess,” I grumble as I begin to inspect the shelves, my fingers dancing over the items my father left behind in his Dream Home. “Trust Dad to be a hoarder.”

I bend closer to the shelves, hoping the Compound will be easy to find; but then again this is Dad and JARVIS. Nothing these two do is ever easy.

“I believe it is on the third shelf Miss Stark,” the AI mutters after a moment of frenzied searching and I chuckle as my fingers close around a cool metal tube tucked away in the far corner of the shelf. “There is half a container left. Enough for-“

“Enough for my feet, thanks J,” I say as I remove one of my father’s greatest creations and thus, best kept secrets, from the cabinet.

It’s so non-descript, so…innocent looking.

“Sure this isn’t his favorite shade of ‘she-devil red’ lipstick J?” I quip, my voice slightly nervous as I twist the tiny cylindrical tube in my fingers; memories of the last time I held some of the Compound threaten to emerge and it takes all I have not to toss the little tube back into its dark corner.

My feet can heal on their own.

Right?

“Indeed Miss, I believe it is his favorite shade of ‘tinted-rose’,” the AI replies, as snarky as ever and I sigh.

“All right boys, we're running low on time.  I need to stop procrastinating,” I grumble as I make my way towards the toilet. I glance at the control panel set to just the side of the door and swallow. “Keep an eye on me J,” I mutter. “I don’t need to pass out in Dad’s bathroom.”

He’s quiet for a moment and Icarus, obviously sensing my uncertainty rushes to my side, a box of tissues in his claw and another scarf draped over his arm. I chuckle and take both from him before petting his arm; his gears whir and I smile. “Go to your charging station for a little while buddy,” I mutter as I take a seat upon the covered toilet and pull my sore feet up under me.

The little bot considers me for just a moment and then seems to nod; I watch with my smile still in place as he rolls towards a tiny niche set near the linen closet and slips backwards into the charger.

Then I turn to my feet.

“Okay J,” I mutter as I twist the lid off of the tube and consider my damaged soles; they’re bleeding a little bit, at the deeper of the cuts, and my foot is an angry red. “What do I do?”

He replies, his tone as practical and down to earth as a doctor’s, “One line down the center of each of your feet should be sufficient for the Compound’s gamma neutrons to heal your tissues, Miss Stark.”

I swallow and twist the bottom so the clear gel can rise to the surface of the tube; it smells spicy and sweet, like eucalyptus but I’m not completely convinced this is a good idea.

Even if Dad and Bruce did work some ten, fifteen years developing this product.

“So what are the chances that I’m going to turn green and mean if I use this J?” I ask nervously as I twist the tube before my eyes and poke my nail into the gel; it bounces under my finger and that spicy smell really starts to roll over my nose.

I sneeze and grab one of Icarus’s tissues.

JARVIS takes a moment and I realize as I’m blowing my nose and wiping my finger off he’s taken my question seriously.

“Forget that question J,” I say with a laugh, before bending over my right foot. “I was just kidding. Right, let’s get this over with.”

As I’m wiping the gel down my left foot I remember the first time I saw Compound 41. The first time I held it.

Bruce had appeared on my Cambridge apartment’s doorstep, scruffy and ragged, thrust a vial of this junk into my hand and made me swear to get it to Dad as soon as possible.

And to tell Tony Stark to not look for him.

And then he had vanished into the night he’d randomly appeared out of and I never saw him again.

We found out later Ross’s daughter had found a way to finally kill the Hulk. Revenge and all that.

I still remember how horrified I’d been when Dad had arrived to escort me to his best friend’s funeral. I’d slipped the Compound into his Suit’s hip compartment the moment he'd removed it from his limbs and ordered JARVIS to tell him it had been Bruce, not his daughter, who had given him the finalized Compound.

I may have been the bane of my parents and their friends existence but I always tried to keep my promises.  

I still do...

 _Would Bruce have survived if he’d kept this?_ I think idly while I draw the tube gently along my arch.

“How long has Bruce Banner been gone J?” I mutter as the cool gel spreads along my arch. At first there’s no sign of any healing but the material is clear, like water and soon my foot is covered in a fine film.

It tingles, not unpleasantly, at least at first.

“Dr. Bruce Banner has been deceased for nine years six months and four days Miss Stark,” JARVIS says after a moment, his voice solemn.

I nod and swallow heavily.

“Time flies,” I whisper as I swipe the Compound down my right foot. My breath hisses between my teeth as the skin tightens on each foot after a moment and my toes automatically curl as what feels like thousands of tiny needles begin stabbing into my soles. I groan and try to keep upright as a peculiar numbness spreads from the tips of my toes up to my ankles.

“God, this is awful,” I grumble. “Why didn’t Dad take the pain out of this healing thing J?”

“Sir says it is something needed for healing, that pain is essential for growth. I believe it is something he understands quite well.”

I can’t help smiling at that and nod. “Yeah, you could say that J. So, how do they look?”

A short pause and then, “The dermal layers of each foot are ninety-eight percent healed Miss Stark. I would suggest another min-“

I shake my head and stand. “No time J, I have to get to SR. Icky!” I snap my fingers and soon my little bot is at my feet, his claw extended and his gears whirring cheerfully. I smile and stroke him before ordering, “Find those blue shoes boy, pretty sure those will go perfectly with my suit. And get the jacket that goes with these slacks. JARVIS will help you.”

As the little bot rolls away I turn to my parent’s expansive mirror and try to summon a smile for my reflection.

It’s difficult though.

My feet still ache.

“Right,” I mutter as I begin applying some makeup I found in one of Mom’s drawers; it’s foreign, seeing my light blue eyes lined and mascara-ed and my lips a bright red once more. I suddenly feel like the old Jacqueline Stark, the one I hoped to forget ever existed. I summon my fierce, toothy smile as I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and comb my bangs straight.

At that moment Icarus arrives, heels in claw and jacket draped over his arm and I chuckle as I take each item from my little bot. “Let’s get this freak-show on the road boys.”

It no longer feels like needles are stabbing into my feet, even when I slip them into my old favorite pair of Reize sky-blue heels.

It feels like they’ve been doused in cold water.

“Armed and ready for battle JARVIS,” I say as I study myself in the mirror once more. I’m thinner than I was five years ago, but I’ve hardened; there is a hint of steel in the line of my spine and I no longer look like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

I suppose a maudlin person would say I’ve grown up in the past five years.

“Well, they do say prison can change a man,” I say with my old sneer still in place and I pull a pair of sunglasses out of my clutch and slide them into place over my eyes.

It’s a very Tony Stark thing to do but that’s what I need to do tonight; I need to remind the freak who’s stolen my parents of who I am. Of _what_ I am.

I’m a Stark.

And I am ready to fight like a Stark.

“I’m ready J,” I say as I brush my fingers over the bluebird feathers at my collar bones.

“I daresay you are Miss Stark,” the AI replies, his voice solemn. “Good hunting.”

As I slip out of the bathroom, shoes and jacket in place, I absently slip the tube of Compound 41 into my purse.

**

“Let’s go,” I say a few moments later from the now spotless living room doorway, Icarus still at my heels.

The four unsuited superheroes all turn to look at me and the looks of surprise on their faces are enough to bolster my courage.

Until my eyes settle on the last hero standing by the open doors leading to the house’s wrap-around balcony, a cigar in his mouth and his battered leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

“Logan,” I snap, my hands curling into fists at my side. “What are you doing here? I only need Carol, Steve and Barnes.”

Logan, known as Wolverine to those who seem to like him (how that is possible, I will never understand) exhales a pungent cloud of smoke out the door towards the Pacific and sneers. “Thought I’d add some extra fire power to your little shit show Stark. What? Am I not allowed?”

I glance towards Steve and Carol and they shrug. James Barnes lounges in one of the couches, his feet up on the coffee table and the metal fingers of his hand glint in the warm light of the Malibu house’s living room.

I almost miss the knife he’s sharpening.

He glances at me and nods, just slightly. “We could use him Jack,” he says when I continue to stand before them with my arms folded over my chest and my jaw set stubbornly.

At the faint ‘snikt’ of claws emerging from knuckles I sigh. “Fine, fine,” I mutter as I start heading for the workshop and the garage. “But you two are just security details. Don’t speak, don’t make eye contact. Just-just look like bodyguards, okay?”

Carol chuckles from behind me and her boots are silent on the cement stairs leading to the workshop. “You do realize those two are just going to intimidate anyone who comes across them, right? They’re about as tame as wolves. And you want them in Stark Resilient? Why?”

I glance at her as I enter my access codes at the door and shrug. “I’m a Stark. I have to look the part. This is a tricky game we’re playing Marvel.”

I push open the door the moment JARVIS authorizes me and sigh as my eyes settle longingly on the hidden armory beneath our feet. A part of me wishes I could just ignore all responsibilities and instead toy with my new suit.

But then I remember.

I may be a Stark.

But I’m also a Potts.

Sometimes responsibility comes before pleasure.

“I’ll take the Lambo,” I say with a small smile as we begin heading towards Dad’s fairly impressive collection of sports cars. “You guys can fight over who’s coming with me. The rest should take the black Mercedes.”

I don’t give them a chance to argue.

I climb into Dad’s favorite red Lamborghini with a small smile on my lips.

The nice thing about being a Stark?

Responsibility and pleasure can so often go hand-in-hand, especially when our toys are involved.

“Buckle up,” I say as Carol settles beside me. “I’m not going to wait for the boys.”

The sound of tires tearing across the cement floor of my father’s basement workshop is lost in the roar of the Lambo’s engine and neither of us can contain our laughter as we peel away from the Malibu house.

We don’t check to make sure Steve and the others are following.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know.
> 
> Lots of updates in the space of like...twelve hours. 
> 
> Sorry about that. I wanted to get these posted before I head back to campus.
> 
> I hope everyone is liking this story!
> 
> -M


	9. Chapter 9

“Why did you come back to the Company?”

Carol’s soft voice is almost lost in the roar of the Italian sportscar we’re riding in and I glance at her in surprise as I weave through the hectic late-night LA traffic.

“Why?” I repeat, honestly confused by the question and she shrugs. “Yeah,” she mutters, her blue eyes locked on the license plate of the silver Mercedes’ in front of us. “Why’d you come back after Africa? Tony always said you were happier in that village than you were with us.”

I hesitate for a moment and try to keep an eye on the traffic around me. “Well,” I say slowly as I shift the Lambo’s gears down before sliding to a stop at a red light deep in the business district of the city; Stark Resilient’s main tower is glowing in the distance, its familiar electric-blue glow providing an added depth to the skyscrapers surrounding it. I can’t help thinking it looks colder than five years ago, emptier. I shiver and turn my gaze away from my parent’s legacy.

“They didn’t really give me a choice, I suppose,” I continue as my fingers trail over the soft leather of the wheel beneath my fingers. “Dad gave me two years in Kenya and then when those two years were up he made sure I came home.”

Carol nods and mutters, her eyes still locked on the car’s bumper in front of us. “I know that. He complained about it for two years, you being gone. I just want to know why you decided to come back. You made it pretty clear every day since you turned thirteen that you didn’t want anything to do with a Stark company.”

I sigh and press my toes delicately into the clutch before shifting through the Lambo’s gears; the engine whines and I’m quiet, thinking on those long ago days made up of nothing but arguments and rebellion and slammed doors.

Mom and I hadn’t spoken to each other privately for years by the time I turned eighteen. We couldn’t stand being in each other’s presence those days.

I’m starting to regret that now.

In the rearview mirror I can see the Mercedes with my three superhero bodyguards just behind me, their light blue headlights beating against my eyes and I sigh. If I wasn’t in the heart of LA I could race them, could try to run away, try to escape this new nightmare.

But I can’t...

“Sam came for me in Africa you know, Dad sent him instead of coming himself,” I say softly, my eyes locked on the road and I refuse to look at her when she turns to me in surprise, her eyes wide and her mouth open slightly; I smile and shrug one shoulder as I pass yet another limo full of the so-called famous. “Sam always knew how to play me, knew how to get me to say ‘yes.’ That’s why I came home,” I continue as Steve comes right up on my bumper.

He’s not going to lose me.

“What did Sam do or say, to get you to come back?” she asks, so very curious despite herself and I sigh.

“We both said a lot Carol, a lot of stuff that doesn’t matter anymore,” I say stiffly and my hands tighten defensively on the wheel. The rings, his rings dig into my finger and my lips curl at the feel and the sight of them against the dark leather. “It doesn’t matter at all,” I mutter, my voice lost in the roar of the engine.

Before I can stop myself I’m lost, lost in a baking African village, lost in the only place I ever felt useful.

Lost in Wajir, Kenya, on my last day as a normal human being.

**

The village of Wajir had one school, one well and one church.

That’s a lot of one’s.

But the villagers always joked that while they may not have much to sustain them, while they may not be the richest people in Kenya they did have one thing that made them just a bit more special.

They had one Stark.

On the day they lose me I’m trying to repair a computer one of my students uses to write his rather amazing poetry on and I’m nearly dying from heat exhaustion.

But I don’t notice my discomfort.

Not anymore. The heat is as familiar to me as the tattoos on my skin and the dust in my hair.

It’s just a part of life at this point.

I grumble under my breath as my fingers fly over the keyboard on my lap and I absently push myself back-and-forth on my swing while code flashes and dances before my eyes; this was always the worst part about tech in my opinion, the repair and maintenance.

I’m so lost in my head, thinking of ways to improve the dozen or so laptops I’ve managed to wrangle out of my father for the dozen or so students I feel can succeed given the chance they need, I don’t notice the village starting to kick-start into life around me under the late afternoon sunlight.

But I do hear one of my students begin calling my name, her voice washing over me from the rear of the school.

“ _Miss Jack! Miss Jack!_ ”

I glance around and push my dusty aviator’s up my nose absently; it’s sweltering on the school’s porch where I sit in my favorite porch swing, surrounded by tools and busted computer parts I’ve pirated from my kit and I should be sweating but I don’t think my body knows how to retain moisture anymore.

It’s ironic that I came out here in hopes of catching a cross breeze while I work and I’m starting to think that might be a hopeless wish.

It’s the middle of summer in Kenya. Being cool and comfortable is a long-lost dream.

Which is of course why I love it here.

“ _Miss Jack! Where are you Miss Jack?_ ”

I recognize the voice immediately and set the computer aside; I know that within a few seconds I’m going to be slammed with dusty child and all work is going to fall to the wayside until I can make it back to my cottage later tonight. It’s okay though…

I love the kids I’m trying to help, trying to give a better life.

Especially this particular little one.

“ _Miss Jack?!_ ”

“Out here Adila!” I call with a chuckle as the little girl calls for me once more from the rear of the school. I can hear her feet pattering over the cement floors and I can imagine her too-thin legs stretching beneath the hem of her raggedy school-dress as she rushes towards my voice.

I’m smiling when the five year old skids through the doorway, her braids swinging and her dark eyes sparkling in the African sunlight.

“Miss Jack!” she shrieks happily, her sweetly accented voice as warm as the dusty village I’ve called home for two years. “You are here! We have been looking so long for you!”  
She’s speaking Swahili and normally I’m pretty good at picking up on what my students say to me in their native tongue. But Adila is jabbering so fast I can barely make out one out of every five words.

As she scrambles into my lap, busted computer and tools be damned, I catch the word “soldier” spilling from her lips.

And I freeze.

 _Soldiers. Here?_ I think in an utter panic as her fingers stroke over my tattoos and she bounces up and down on my lap, still chattering, completely oblivious to my panic and my confusion.

“Adila,” I say sharply, in my stiffly accented Swahili, my hands rising to grip her wrists so I can stop her from poking my tattoos anymore (all of the villagers were fascinated with the feathers when I first arrived, the children even more so. And this little girl can never get enough of their delicate lines. Normally I would be fine with her curious stroking but now she’s driving me to distraction.) “Adila, slow down!”

She smiles, her white teeth bright against the rich chocolate of her skin and my lips twitch up in response.

I will never forget the children of Wajir’s smiles.

They are the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed in my entire life.

“Miss Jack?” she asks curiously, her eyes sparkling and I shake my head before tapping her on the tip of her nose, which makes her giggle. “Speak slowly please,” I tell her with a laugh and I reposition her bony body in my arms so her knees aren’t digging into my upper thighs and her elbows aren’t banging into my breasts.

She accepts my fiddling and reclines in my arms, her fingers tapping against mine.

“Soldier is here Miss Jack,” she says after a moment of absent-minded fidgeting. “Soldier with dark skin like me but eyes like you!”

I frown; this does not sound like any of the Kenyan militants I have seen during my sojourn in Wajir.

“Who is he Adila?” I ask calmly even as my heart hammers forcefully in my chest and my mind begins to race, considering the possibilities of what this unusual visitor may mean for my village and the kids I teach.

It doesn’t even cross my mind that he may be here for me.

A part of me has forgotten my father’s and my agreement.

And that  _other_ agreement I made that Tony Stark should never find out about.  That agreement I made with Sam...

Who would have ever thought two years could go so fast?

She pokes me firmly in the collarbones and I wince as her nail digs into my tan skin. “American, like you Miss Jack! He is asking for the American Jacqueline Stark.”

I am so preoccupied with the heat and the worry that I may be about to witness another military presentation I almost miss her words.

Almost miss her saying my name.

Then it hits me.

 _The American Jacqueline Stark,_ she said.

 ** _Me_**.

I stand so quickly the computer I am desperately trying to repair for eighteen year old Gethii tumbles to the floor and Adila nearly slides from my arms.

I tighten my grip on her though as she shrieks in excitement and rush through the school, weaving between the battered desks my students sit at for a few hours every day of the week, to the rear door leading right into the village square.

Adila keeps saying the name. Keeps saying Jacqueline, completely unaware of my panic as only children can be.

She’s singing my name, adding it to a rhyme she and my students sing when they have their fifteen minute recess in the early afternoon.

And my skin is crawling, even with the intense sunlight beating down on us.

_The American Jacqueline Stark._

_Soldier with dark skin like me but eyes like you!_

“It can’t be,” I whisper as I dodge a farmer leading his cows in from pasture; the dust of the road I’m pounding down washes up over my feet and over my skin and soon coats my throat.

I don’t notice.

Adila is heavy in my arms.

And her words are bearing down on me.

_Soldier with dark skin like me but eyes like you!_

The moment I reach the square, the little space reserved for meetings and goodbyes in the center of my village I see him.

I see him…

He’s standing in the midst of the villagers, all of whom are chattering at him in Swahili and my boss is standing next to him smiling and laughing; she’s far shorter than me and only reaches his chest. He has to bend so he can hear her over the villagers’ chatter.

I think I forgot how tall and muscular he was, even before I came to Africa.

It’s weird seeing him here in Wajir, here in my little corner of heaven.

But it still hasn’t registered _why_ he’s here.

All I can think about is him, standing before me, a little piece of my childhood.

“Sam,” I breathe and he turns so slowly, almost as if he has heard my shocked whisper from yards away. His lips ( _oh God those lips. I know them, I_ know _them..._ ) turn up into a smile at the sight of me standing next to the dry water trough and I wish I could see his eyes.

He’s wearing aviators like me and his hat is low over his brow.

He’s in field military dress.

Medals, more than I knew he ever received, line the left breast of his jacket and despite the dust and the dirt of this dry village road we stand on, his shoes are shining.

He’s stunning.

“Hey Jacqueline,” he says, his voice mild; I can just make out the laughter in his voice, the laughter he always seemed to reserve for me.

My skin begins to burn with white-hot fire, the likes of which I haven’t felt for two solid years.

Two very long years, I suddenly realize as I take in his broad shoulders and easy stance. This is a man I was once so very familiar with, so in love with; I knew every inch of his body, knew what it felt like to be wrapped in his arms, his lips at my ear, his hands firm on my waist.

I suddenly wish I could get to know him again.

For him to get to know me, this me I’ve forged out of African sand and sweat.

I wonder if he’ll like this new version of Jacqueline Stark, this version I’ve come to love and embrace.

I wonder what this version of Sam Wilson Rhodes is like?

This _Colonel_ Sam Wilson Rhodes, I suddenly realize as I take in the silver eagle and shield resting above the service epaulets on his breast.

He’s staring at me, waiting for me to acknowledge him and Karen Smithe, my boss, jerks her head subtly in his direction; I jump and shift Adila in my arms before turning my gaze directly on him.

He looks like he’s resisting a chuckle at my expense.

“Hi Sammy,” I say, my voice as mild and even as his. I know he can’t see my eyes, can’t see the heat I am feeling and the questions. Thank God…

Adila’s arms are tight around my neck and Sam’s studying her, studying my arms around her slender body. I can almost see his questions.

Can almost _taste_ them.

“Say hello Adila,” I say to the child in her native language and my lips twitch upward as Sam jumps in surprise at the Swahili on my lips.

Adila smiles and lifts her hand in a tiny wave. “Hello,” she says in English and as he waves back she ducks her head into my neck and giggles.

“She’s a student,” I say by way of explanation.

“She’s cute,” he says and for a moment the oddness of this situation hits me and I can’t help feeling a bit like Alice the first time she stumbled upon Wonderland.

“So, uh…” I mutter, at a loss at how I should proceed with this sudden emergence of this man into my life. He doesn’t give me a chance to find my footing.

Suddenly he closes the distance between us and before I can react he is kissing me, desperation and passion in his touch.

 _Oh my God_ , I think wildly as my skin flushes under his touch. _Sam…_

My lips part under his as he kisses me and for a moment I’m lost to his touch, lost to the feel of his tongue on mine, lost to his hands cradling the back of my skull.

And then Adila is giggling in my ear and the villagers are cheering and I realize-

“You’re here to take me home, aren’t you?” I gasp as I pull free of him, my words slurred as I struggle to regain what clarity I had before his onslaught. “You’re…Dad sent you.”

He’s staring at me, his eyes hidden by his glasses and we’re both panting, our bodies yearning desperately towards each other’s.  
I’ve forgotten what it’s like to kiss Samuel Rhodes.

Forgotten what it’s like to be held by him.

 _How could I have_ forgotten _him?_

He hesitates for a moment and I watch as he glances around our curious audience. Then he faces me once more and his smile is gone.

Suddenly he’s all business.

And I know my time here is done.

No matter what I have to say about the matter.

My happiness at seeing my old best friend and possible something-more is long gone as an irrational anger I haven’t felt since I was eighteen washes over me. My jaw is tight as I look at him with clear eyes and see the Stark phone in his pocket and the Stark Resilient insignia on his glasses.

He’s chosen his side then.

Like I chose mine when I ran away from the Stark legacy. And from him.

“How’s it feel to be a Stark lapdog Sammy?” I snap when he sighs and opens his mouth to order me home; I cut him off, my voice cold and my skin crawling for reasons other than fast-remembered desire. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d become my Dad’s _bitch_.”

The gasps of those assembled wash over my ears as I turn away from him and make my way towards the little cottage I’ve called home for the past two years.

Adila is still in my arms.

I cling to her, almost like a drowning man would cling to a life-preserver he hopes will save him from death.

The shock of finding Sam here in Wajir and the shock of realizing he’s come to drag me home, my desires be-damned, are enough to fuel my anger and when he comes to my house a little while later, it really is no surprise that we speak at first in anger and not in love.

“You’re being ridiculous Jacqui; you're acting like a melodramatic child and it needs to _stop_ ,” he says calmly from the doorway leading to my bedroom; I’m in a tank top and boy shorts. My hair tumbles down my back in loose curls that for the moment are clean.

Give it ten minutes and the fine dust of Africa will once more cling to my skin.

To my very soul.

The floor of my room is scattered with clothes, books and spare computer parts.

It’s chaos.

And I wish I could cry at the utter bullshit this day has become.

But I can’t cry.

I’m stronger than that.

“And he’s controlling you Sam!” I snarl from the middle of the room, my hands fisted at my sides. “Tony Stark is controlling you, using you to get to me and you know it.”

He sighs, absolutely frustrated with me and his light blue eyes, far paler than mine, spark dangerously in the half-light of the home I share with two other Peace Corps volunteers.

“Tony isn’t using me Jacqui; he wasn't ready to face you, not really, but he wants you home.  Your parents miss and need you Jack. You need to believe me,” he says, his voice still calm, still even. It would have been reassuring if I wasn’t so furious, so hurt.

 _How could Dad do this to me? How could he send Sammy to do his dirty work? It’s not_ fair _!_ I think to myself as I struggle to maintain some semblance of strength.

“Yeah, then why are you here and not Dad? He couldn’t get Steve to come?” I snap and my lips twist into my old sneer at the thought of Tony Stark begging noble Captain America to retrieve his wayward daughter. I hate how defensive I’ve become, how cold.

I’m turning back into the version of me I hate.

I’m turning into Jacqueline Skye Stark.

I’ve never hated her as much as I do now.

“He sent me because he knew I’d be able to talk you down. He knows about what happened in New York Jack,” he says and I blink, stunned into silence at his words while he pushes off the doorjamb and approaches me.

His voice is no longer even; it's become rough, harsh.  

_Hot._

“What?!” I sputter as he stops in front of me and stretches out a hand to cup my cheek. I don’t even have the brains to duck him at this point; he’s certainly succeeded at “talking me down.” I’m frozen. “What did you say?”

He smiles, so gently and I’m caught once more in the memory of those full lips pressing against mine, so long ago in a secluded corner of Central Park and more recently here in Wajir.

I can’t stop thinking about those kisses.

“He knows about New York,” he says and I shiver at the soft rumble in his voice, the faint growl. “He knows the exact reason why you ran away Jack, why you ran away from him, from the company, from _me_.  He knows.”

I shake my head and try to pull away from him but somehow he’s managed to lock his fingers around my wrist without me noticing.

I’m stuck.

In every form of the word.

“No,” I breathe as he slides closer to my shaking body; my eyes are locked on his and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. I feel like he’s stolen what air is left in Africa, stolen it from me and I’m stuck. Stuck in his arms. My eyes flutter closed as his free hand slips into his pants pocket and I shake my head in denial as to what he’s reaching for. “No, he can’t. You-you swore Sam! Swore you wouldn’t tell anyone about that!”

Another soft chuckle and I can feel his chest vibrating under mine.

He’s closed the distance between us and every shallow breath I take means my breasts brush against the stiff linen of his dress-blues.

I feel like I’m on fire.

I’m hot. I’m angry. I’m nervous.

I’m…

_Sam_

“I didn’t tell him anything Jack,” Sam says, his voice echoing from a great distance away. “I didn’t have to. He found out on his own. Which is why I’m here and he’s not. I,” his hand cups my jaw and he pulls my head up gently, so very gently. “I wanted to come, to see you and bring you home.”

My eyes flash open at that but before I can protest he’s pulling his hand free of his pants and he’s falling to his knees before me.

“I’ve given you two years Jacqueline Skye Stark,” he says and I swear my heart is going to burst free of my ribcage at the sight of him kneeling there amidst my clutter of my home.

He’s holding a familiar but beautiful ring between us and his fingers are still locked around mine.

Otherwise I would be long gone.

Dad played his cards well.

I've never been able to resist this man.  

Never.

“Sam,” I whisper, my voice a broken husk of agony. “Please stop…”

He ignores me.

His face is hard now, determined.

Cold.

“I’ve given you two years to get your damn head in line Jack and that’s it,” he says, his voice harsh in the dusty silence of my home. I shiver and close my eyes as the diamond he holds glints, waiting to shackle my finger, shackle me to him for eternity. He squeezes my hand and continues, “Two years, just like you promised me when we graduated. You left me in New York and ran to fucking Africa without telling our family the whole truth and all I had to go on was that promise.  I've waited for you for two years, waited for you to come home to me. Don’t do this to me now Stark, just don’t!”

I don’t know what to do.

Don’t know what to say.

I’m suddenly exhausted; I feel like I have been running, running for years to get away from this exact moment and yet…here I am. And I don’t even think if the running was worth it in the end.

 _In the end…he came for me._ Me. _Oh God, Sammy…_

I sag to my knees in front of him and lean forward to press my forehead to his with a soft groan of frustration.

“Please Sam,” I whisper, tears standing in my eyes. “Please…” The sick thing is I’m not even sure what I’m begging for at this point. I can’t even name what it is I’m feeling at this exact moment.

Sadness?

Resignation?

Happiness?

_Desire._

“Please Jack,” he whispers as his hand cups the back of my skull and he pulls me tight against his body, his lips hot on my jaw, on my neck. On the tattoos he watched get engraved on my skin. He held my hand and sang to me I suddenly remember as his lips brush their raised lines. “Please, don’t do this to me anymore. I can’t-I can’t stand it, you not being with me,” he whispers brokenly, a sob replacing the growl and I feel my resolve begin to crumble as that damn ring falls to the ground between us, forgotten. “I missed you,” he groans, his lips feathering over my tattoos while his hands trail down my back to grip my hips. “I missed you…”

And that’s when I know…

“I can’t run away from you again Sammy,” I whisper back, my hands tight on the nape of his neck. “I…I can’t hurt you-I love you.”

“Marry me,” he whispers as he pushes me gently to the floor and presses his knee between my thighs. “Please Jack, I can’t-I can’t live without you.”

I’m drowning in his eyes, drowning in their icy depths and through the beating desire now rushing through my limbs I hear myself whisper

**

“Jack?!”

Carol’s sharp voice snaps me back to reality and I blink in surprise for a moment before turning to see her facing me, her hand suspended as if she was considering shaking me.

“What?!” I gasp, my heart in my throat and I glance back to the road; we’re still driving, still in the heart of LA and despite my daydream only a few moments have passed. And I haven’t even crashed Dad’s car, despite my sudden nostalgia.

Stark Resilient is lost on the horizon I realize with a jolt, tucked behind neighboring skyscrapers.

I can’t help being relieved. I don’t want to look at it until I absolutely have to.

“What happened?” I ask and Carol’s staring at me.

Her eyes are wide, dark in the half-light of the glowing console and I shiver at the calculation in her gaze.

“Are you okay Jack?” she asks, her hand moving to stroke my cheek. “You’re crying.”

That’s when I realize my cheeks are wet.

My eyes flutter closed and I pull away from her touch; it’s too soon, too soon after remembering Sam’s second proposal for me to handle her fingers on my burning skin.

All I feel is desire.

Poignant, regretful, desperate desire.

And all I see are his ice blue eyes gazing at me from above, as he kissed my skin into surrender that long distant day in the middle of an African village.

I shift in my seat and shake my head, desperately trying to shake the desire, the memories away.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice harsh and her hand falls away as she turns forward; I can just make out her frown.

“Okay, whatever,” she grumbles, her arms folded defensively across her chest once more. “We’re here anyway.”

And she’s right.

Stark Resilient is just ahead.

I gun the engine and try to ignore the sparkling diamond on the ring finger of my right hand.

It’s impossible though.

Sam Rhodes came for me after he let me live my own life for two years.

He came to me in Africa.

And I left with him the next morning.

With this ring on my finger.

As I prepare to pull up to my parent’s company I slip the rings Sam Rhodes married me with, off of my finger and I tuck them one-handed into my purse without Carol noticing.

I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to lose them.

In some ways it’s because I want to lose _him_.

 _I missed you_ , he whispers in my mind as I pull up to Stark Resilient, Steve and my “bodyguards” right on my car’s bumper. _I can’t-I can’t stand you not being with me._

 _I can’t stand you not being with me either Sammy_ , I think sadly as I prepare to face the world head-on once more. _Why’d you have to come for me? Why couldn’t you leave me to rot in Africa?_

_Why did you have to leave me?_

_Why am I doing this all over again?_

The questions are pointless of course.

What’s done is done. What’s dead is dead.

And I have to focus on the present.

I push Sam Wilson Rhodes away, I tuck him away in a hidden corner of my mind and I strive to summon that old, dusty, version of Jacqueline Stark I and my family need tonight.

I can’t regret him anymore.

I don’t have time for that.

I have a game to play.

“Sorry Sammy,” I whisper, my fingers tight on the steering wheel I grip so desperately as I take in the reception committee waiting for us.

The superhero at my side doesn’t even look at me; she’s focused on the crowd in front of my parent’s company and her finger is tight at her ear, tucked into the comm unit I know her blonde hair hides.

“We’re ready Steve,” she says without asking me if we really are. “We’ll pull right up to the curb.”

There’s no more time for nostalgia.

We’re at Stark Resilient now.

We’re about to play another game of life-and-death.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: author takes massive liberties with characters. 
> 
> sorry. all for the sake of the story.

Maxwell Kincaid and Jennifer Walters are waiting for us when we get to Stark Resilient; but they’re not the only ones.

The vultures are here as well.

Thankfully the paparazzi are being held back by burly security guards.  That doesn’t stop them from shouting their questions and derogatory comments to the newly emerged Stark heiress though. 

I make sure my best Jacqueline Stark smile is on and my favorite pair of sunglasses. 

Dad would be proud.

Mom would be irritated.

Especially when I loop my arm familiarly through Logan’s and pretend to kiss him for the cameras. 

The pap’s love it and the moment my feet hit the curb they’re screaming for my attention. 

I ignore them.

 _Jacqueline Stark!  Miss Stark!  Is it true you’re stepping in as President of Stark Resilient?_ One of the Guardian’s worst reporters asks. 

I don’t answer.  I just focus on mounting the steps leading up to the blue-lit façade of my parents’ company; Logan disengages from my arm the moment we spot a few of the younger (and stupider) cameramen try to slip the barriers and head for me.

The sound of his claws emerging and the resultant indignant shrieks makes Carol snort and roll her eyes. 

“Ass,” she mutters under her breath as she hurries up the stairs before the Captain and myself.

Steve takes Logan’s place to the excitement of the vultures and his arm curves around my waist; I wonder briefly if he wishes he’d brought his shield. 

He certainly seems unamused but whether it’s with my behavior or the media’s, I can’t tell. 

 _Miss Stark, do you wish to make a statement on the state of the mental health care facilities Vermont provides for the wealthy?_ One of the women from People shrieks, her voice strident and piercing over the chaos of flash-bulbs and the other vultures screaming for my attention. 

My skin crawls at the thought of where she got _that_ info.

“Tony released a statement five years ago, saying you’d been sent to a rehab center in Vermont after Sam’s death,” Steve mutters at my side; his arm is still extended, providing further protection against the barely contained paparazzi threatening to swarm us. 

I don’t answer him either.  My eyes are locked on the too-thin silhouette of Kincaid I can just make out through the heavy plate glass doors facing Grand Avenue.  My superhero escort is hustling me, practically pushing me up the stairs and I would be fine with that.

If Kincaid wasn’t waiting for me. 

_Stark.  Hey!  Stark!  There’s a rumor going around that your parents are dead!_

That one catches my attention. 

“Stop,” I snarl to my scowling escorts.  “Stop.” 

They do. 

And I turn to face my nasty as hell audience. 

“Hello boys,” I say with a cocky little toss of my head, confident Stark smirk in place; I throw up a peace-sign for the cameras, my eyes darting behind my glasses as I search for the bastard who spoke of rumors and my parents.  Stane’s toy?  “Long time no see,” I’m saying, “you’re all looking long in the teeth.  Your bosses have you camping out waiting for Dad to finally give you the time of day?”  I laugh brightly at that, my head tossed back like it’s the best thing I’ve ever said _ever_.  “You’d think they’d learn.” 

They all chuckle but I have eyes for only one of the bastards, tucked away behind some of the Daily Bugle’s crowd. 

Stane’s toy…

He’s young. 

Very young.

He would have just made public junior high when Sam and I got married. He probably doesn’t even remember hearing about Sam’s kidnap barely a day after our nuptials. Does he know all of the gory details about Sam’s murder? Somehow I think he does.  It’s the confident little smirk on his lips, the twisted knowledge in his eyes, that just screams _Stane’s little bitch._

“Who are you?” I ask him when I finally near his section of barrier, my voice warm, gentle, my lips curled in a toothy smile I reserve for my enemies. 

For those I truly hate.

I want to pound this prick’s teeth in. 

“Clarence Pickers, Stark. What’s it to ya?” he says, his voice all smarmy confidence and the pap’s surrounding him are suddenly _gone_. 

If there’s one thing they’ve learned over the past thirty years, it’s that you _never_ sass a Stark.

Even one who’s been out of the tabloids for five years.

 _Especially_ one who’s been out of the tabloids for five years.

 _Should have run punk,_ I think as I slip closer, Steve and Barnes close behind me; Logan’s smoking in the distance, his claws half extended on his right hand.  Carol’s three stairs up, her eyes flashing a dangerous gold in the unnatural LA light.  I have eyes only for my little present though.  My fingers itch to wrap around his throat.  _Should have run back to Stane when you could_ , I almost whisper. 

His smirk has slid a bit, now that he’s caught sight of just _who_ is with me and his hands rise slowly, the camera he clutches shaking visibly.

I’m almost purring as I lean towards him, my eyes indecipherable behind the black lenses of my Gucci sunglasses.  “No pictures sweetie,” I hiss, my hand darting out to snatch the camera away.  “It’s not polite to take pics without asking.” 

The camera shatters at my feet and now the paparazzi are _really_ MIA. 

The cowards.

My teeth are bared in a fierce grin and I take my time to study this little pawn.  My estimate of him being young was probably a little too optimistic.  This kid is extremely _young._   Seventeen at the most.  Which would explain the cockiness.  And the pimples.

He’s facing me head-on, which is good. 

Stane’s toys always did think they were invincible. 

I lean in and my nose flares at the smell of dank blood on his skin.  _Why do they always smell like this?_ I think to myself as my hand rises to cup the back of his skull.  I drag him close, even as he struggles to pull away but I’m _strong._   I’m five years Rykers strong and I am so fucking _done_ with this.  I yank him close, bend him over the railing and I turn my lips into his ear. 

I want him to hear me.  I want him to _hear me,_ Jacqueline Skye Stark and know that he is _fucked._

Because I hate playing games.  And I hate useless pawns being thrown in my path.  They’re just another tally to add to my record at this point. 

I stopped caring about the bad-guys’ goons after tally number five. 

Number twelve is panting and I actually start to laugh as my fingers twist into his greasy hair and my nails bite into his scalp.

“You’re playing the wrong side Clarence,” I whisper, my eyes closed and my lips curved in a cold smile.  “Your kind should have learned that five years ago, love.”

He’s shaking.

He’s not so confident now. 

“You’re playing the wrong sort of game and when this is all over and I hold your employer’s heart in the palm of my hand, when I’ve crushed it _again_ , I’m coming for _you_.”  I release him then, pushing him firmly away from me and he staggers with a breathless gasp.

His eyes are wide with fear. 

I twiddle my fingers and grin for the cameras. 

“Tell your boss I say hello,” I call as he scrambles into the crowd of paparazzi.  “Tell him I’m waiting!” I shout before he vanishes back into the scum my family has loathed for eons. 

“Bastard,” I hiss under my breath as I turn away from the barriers, the guards and the cameras.  “Let’s go,” I say to my own personal guards.  “I need to wash my hands.” 

Carol’s eyes are wide when I pass her on the way up the final flight of white marble stairs leading to the front terrace of Stark Resilient. 

“What _was_ that Jack?” she asks, her voice horrified.

I don’t answer. 

And I don’t miss the bright respect in Logan’s eyes or the smirk on Barnes’ lips. 

Steve is frowning; there’s nothing but disappointment in his gaze as he watches me sashay up the stairs, giving the pap’s an appealing sight of my ass. 

But I’m no longer a naïve teenager.  His disgust is not enough to humiliate me anymore. 

I’m beyond that now.

At least I’m clothed this time.

And besides I’ve just identified a player, however minor he may have been. 

“Hi Jennifer,” I say the moment I pass through the doors of Stark Resilient, my hips loose and my head held high; I’m the Stark here, not these people.

Last I saw, my name was on the arc-on sign up near the top of this tower. 

I don’t even _look_ at Kincaid. 

“Let’s get this meeting started shall we?” I say, my voice even; there’s no sign of the nervous anticipation I’m feeling at the thought of walking these marble floors once more.

Jennifer’s dark green lips, unusual on anyone else but beautiful on her, curve up in a knowing smile and I know she’s resisting a smirk in the President’s direction. 

“Right away Miss Stark,” she says, her mild voice respectful and her eyes knowing behind the lenses of her glasses.  “The board is looking forward to seeing and speaking with you tonight.  We’ll be in the penthouse conference room.  Shall I have my assistant mix you a drink?”

I resist a chuckle at that; she’s just ruffling Maxwell Kincaid’s feathers.  Knowing the man he was hoping to get to me first, before I get to the board.  He was probably hoping he’d be able to control me all while maintaining his own influence on the ten members of the company’s owners.  

Looks like he forgot there are two Stark’s in the world, not just one.   

The only person who can control a Stark is a Potts.

That’s what Dad always said when I was little. 

“Hurry up Max, you’re making us late,” I say cheerfully as Jennifer, Steve, Carol and I step into the elevator.  He’s standing in the entryway of Stark Resilient, irritated disgust on his face and I almost laugh as he coughs delicately into his handkerchief when Logan exhales a cloud of pungent cigar smoke in his direction.  

Both he and Barnes are grinning, even as they head off towards the stairs; they’ll scout the building and make sure everything is clear before doubling back to join Carol and Steve outside of the conference room. 

“Of course Miss Stark,” Kincaid grumbles as he steps into the elevator-anything to escape Logan’s cigar and Barnes’ dangerous glare.  I can see the uncertainty in his eyes.

The fear.

He has no idea how to handle this new version of Jacqui standing before him and I think that scares him more than what I may say to the board tonight. 

 “Going up,” I mutter as the doors sweep closed. 

I keep the sunglasses on.

And my Stark smirk. 

 _You better not have forgotten who I am_ , I think as we near the top floor and the board.  _Because I haven’t forgotten any of you._

After a moment of tense silence we’ve arrived; I’m nothing but cold calculation and tense anticipation as Steve moves around me and onto the floor, his back tense and his finger tucked against the comm as he listens to my other guards’ reports.  Carol stays close to my back and Jennifer is at my side, her phone out as she texts her assistant about or arrival on the 80th floor.

“Are you ready?” she asks, her green eyes kind but calculating as she glances at me; we’re making our way towards the conference room and I should be nervous. 

But I’m not.

“Of course I am,” I tell my superhero family with another toss of my head and my lips twisted in a cold sneer.  “I’m a Stark.”

Steve glances at me from over his shoulder and smiles before sweeping open the door leading to the penthouse office suites. 

Carol actually chuckles before following the Captain and me through the door. 

Kincaid just looks sour. 

And that’s when I know that tonight is going to be just what I need to get my parent’s back. 

 _This game is_ all _mine now_ , I think as he heads for a table lined with silently staring people, their eyes locked on me with varying degrees of shock and fear on their faces _._

I don’t focus on them though. 

My eyes never leave the Stark Resilient board President’s back, even when Jennifer’s assistant hands me an un-watered whiskey with a whispered, “Good evening Miss Stark.” 

 _Is he a player or is he the_ initiator _,_ I think as I take my place at the head of the conference table, diagonal from the head of R&D, a mousy woman I don’t recognize.

It’s customarily the President’s seat in the absence of one of SR’s CEO’s.

“That’s my spot,” I point at the bespectacled woman catty corner to me with an imperious arch of my brow.  She blushes and fiddles with the edge of her white lab coat, her brown eyes shadowed behind bangs and glasses.  I smirk and wave my hand dismissively, muttering as I turn to face the rest of the board, “I’ll let you have it this time though.” 

Captain’s Marvel and America are silent guardian’s at my back, their faces masks of indifference as I cross my legs and lean back in my seat, completely and utterly at ease in this elegantly appointed room; their eyes never stop _watching_ the people we’ve come to test though.

They know something isn’t right with these bastards. 

It’s the _smell._   The smell of fear and blood is drifting through this room.

_Stane._

“Is it me or are you guys even more dour than five years ago?” I quip before I toss back my whiskey; many of the board shifts in irritation and I have to fight a smile at their discomfort. 

My eyes are inscrutable behind the dark lenses of my glasses. 

I haven’t stopped watching Maxwell Kincaid. 

**

The board agrees that I should talk to the media about my parent’s disappearance. 

It’s cute really, them thinking they’d have been able to stop me from doing so. 

In true Tony Stark fashion I keep the board meeting short-I tell them my parents are missing, that their friends (including Rhodey, who’s sitting three chairs away, a small smile on his lips) have pulled me out of retirement in hopes of me finding Tony and Pepper, and that in the duration of their absences Stark Resilient is in lock-down and James Rhodes is placed as acting CEO.

Kincaid is furious at that. 

 _That should be my position Miss Stark!_ he snapped when I announced my ultimatum, second whiskey at hand, the whiskey he made sure to top off (to sweeten the deal?)  _You have no right to do-_

But I have every right. 

And he and the board know it. 

“You’ve got the right people down there, right Jen?” I ask a bare twenty minutes after my face-off with Kincaid and his band of merry-puppets.  I’ve left all of them behind and their bellowing and arguing is like sweet music to my ears.

Rhodey has stepped in in my stead.  He’ll make sure no one pulls an Obadiah. 

Dad would be proud, of both of us.

Jennifer’s directly behind me, her phone out and her fingers flying over the keys, once more coordinating with her very efficient assistant.  She glances at me and nods.  “Yes, all of the reporters Tony tussled with when he did something ‘interesting.’  I figured they’d be the ones to get the information out the fastest.   Do you think any of them work with whoever’s done this to your parents?” 

I would laugh. 

But it’s worth thinking about. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised Jen,” I mutter, my fingers rising unconsciously to tap at my collar bones.  “We’ll see who’s here tonight and maybe I’ll get some more answers.  We’ll keep this short, barely give them a taste and then I’m leaving.” 

She nods, her eyes sharp.  “Good idea.  Don’t give them too much but don’t scare them.  We’ll get you out of here and back to Malibu before the news even hits the airwaves, okay?  Don’t worry.” 

I start thinking seriously about giving our lovely green-skinned lawyer a promotion or a better share in the company. 

We turn a corner on the upper floor of SR, our heels sharp on the marble floors and we’re each lost to phones and thoughts.  But not for long.  My eyes flash up to see Steve and Carol just ahead, by the elevators, talking with a woman dressed all in black. 

A red-haired woman. 

_Natasha._

Barnes stands at her side, the metal fingers of his left arm resting gently at her hips.  Both ex-assassins are watching me as Jennifer and I arrive, her still texting her assistant and me suddenly wishing we’d taken the stairs.

I remember her standing in the shadows behind Barnes at the house during our mystery message boy’s explosion. 

That was the first I’d seen of her in nearly ten years.  And now she’s here in my parent’s company. 

_Why?_

I try to summon my old courage as her eyes meet mine. 

Ultimately, I fail.  It doesn’t help that I suddenly remember Natasha was the only member of Dad’s team he was ever actually afraid of.

With good reason.

“Hello Jack,” she says, her voice mild but her green eyes dangerously cold.  “I see you’re back to your disruptive ways.” 

I bare my teeth once more in my old sneer, but it’s a laughable ghost of the expression.   I don’t like thinking about why she’s giving me the time of day again. 

It doesn’t bode well.  

“Natasha,” I say, my voice low and even; I can’t help noticing she’s not in her uniform.  But then, none of them are-that doesn’t mean any one of them is less deadly for the unmasking.  “What are you doing here?  I thought you were acting Avenger’s liaison with SHIELD and SWORD, not following me.” 

She doesn’t respond right away.  Instead she glances over my shoulder and gestures with her chin, muttering, “You’ve got a tail Stark.” 

I frown and glance over my shoulder, just in time to spot a mouse-haired woman with spectacles and a lab coat duck around a pillar; I chuckle and wave the supes back.  “Stop, she’s harmless,” I mutter to Logan who’s decided now is a good time to play with his claws.  “She’s just-hey!  R&D!”  I snap, my voice echoing in the cavernous hallway we stand in. 

I can just make out her shadow stretching past the pillar. 

Chuckling I make my way in her quivering direction.  “Ma’am?” I call as I near her hiding place, my hands raised to either side of my face.  I can just make out her huddled figure and that really unfortunate color of her hair.  “I’m coming in your direction, please don’t blast me with an arc-blast or a specialized monkey-taser.  That would be embarrassing.” 

A choked off giggle and a woman’s voice, soft and nervous, says, “’Monkey-taser’?”

“Yeah well, I worked in R&D for two years and my Dad’s Tony Stark,” I say as I slip around the pillar, up behind the woman.  “You never know what’s going to come out of a Stark compound.” 

She turns so quickly she almost falls and my sneer slips into something a little more natural. 

“Hi,” I say with my hands still raised in a placating gesture.  “You okay?” 

Her brown eyes stare at me wildly for a moment and as she gapes, fish-mouthed at me, I take the time to really study the woman my father decided was skilled enough to take my spot. 

 _Who are you?  Who are you_ really _?_ I think as she struggles to find words.  _What are you doing here?_

Finally, she’s found her words.

“H-hi Miss Stark,” she says after a moment, her voice a timid squeak.  I don’t miss the calculation in her eyes though.  “S-sorry, I was j-just hoping to sp-speak with you a-about the d-department.  Tony-Dr. Stark w-was going to h-help me, uh…”

 _Player or scientist?_ I think as she holds a sweaty palm out towards me, that odd calculating gleam in her eyes.  I take it after a tense moment, my small smile still in place. 

“What was your name again?  I think I missed it,” I say as she pumps my hand a little too enthusiastically.  I can hear my bodyguards approaching us, their voices soft in the silent hallway. 

“Esther Cavers,” she says, “Can I just say I’m a _huge_ fan of yours Miss Stark!  The work you did with the Coriolis-mainframe five years ago is still the tantamount source-code for robotic assistants internationally!  And your work with the arc technology-you made it _so_ sustainable!  You went beyond anything Dr. Stark could have done!  Not to mention your Icarus helper-bot models…”

I’m only half listening. 

When somebody says the word “fan” in relation to me, my mind tends to drift. 

Plus I’m more focused on her eyes; her oddly familiar eyes. 

“Do I know you Heather?” I interrupt mid-splutter and she flushes.

“W-what?” she asks and suddenly she’s yanking her hand free and taking a step back.  “N-no!  I’ve only been here for two years!  You’ve been in-in-“

“Re-hab,” Steve says from behind me and she jumps at the soft boom of his voice.  His hand is firm on my shoulder now and that’s when I notice how cold my skin has become. 

How clammy. 

“What did you say your last name was?” I ask her, my eyes narrowing and my vision going a bit vague at the edges; absently I shake my hand out.  I barely notice the pins and needles pricking my palm.  “I feel like…I feel like I know you from somewhere.” 

She’s pale and shaking her head.

“I’m s-sorry ma’am,” she whimpers, her back firm against the wall and her eyes wide as she takes in my superhero family and my narrowed eyes.  “I don’t-I haven’t.  My name’s _Esther._ ”

And with that my vision rights itself and I’m no longer cold.

“Sorry Esther,” I say with a sheepish chuckle.  “I guess I misheard you the first time.” 

Before she has a chance to respond, I pivot and make for the elevators.  Suddenly, all I want is to get as far away from this mousy little woman with calculation in her wide brown eyes and back to my father’s workshop.

Where I can study Kincaid’s workings over the past five years in comfort. 

I shake my hand out once more before stepping into the elevator. 

“Keep up the good work in R&D,” I shout to my replacement as the doors close.  “Our company needs you!”

My sneer is firmly in place even before we reach the lower vestibule and the waiting vultures. 

“Who is she Natasha?” I ask the ex-Russian at my back.

She hands me a Stark Resilient personnel disk, saying, “Interesting.  You should do some research in your parent’s company Jack.  A lot’s changed in the past five years.”

I glance at her and slide the tiny rectangular disk into my clutch, my eyebrow cocked over the frames of my glasses. 

“It hasn’t changed that much Romanov,” I mutter as I slip out of the elevator into a veritable lightning storm of cameras turned for their first official glimpse of the reincarnated Stark princess. 

_It hasn’t changed that much…_

**

I lie to the press.

I tell them that my reemergence in company doings has been planned from the get-go. 

“I just want the company and the world to know that I am here to stay,” I say, my smirk in place and my eyes blinded as I gaze out at the hundred or so reporters.  Jennifer removed my sunglasses the moment Steve handed me up to the podium.  I’m sort of missing them.

Have camera flashes always been this _bright_?

“I have been preparing to take over this company and the time has come for me to take my rightful position at the head of the company,” I continue after a few breathless questions shot my way from the bloggers in the back.  They’re hushed instantly by their seniors and my smirk goes a little brittle as a few of them are forcefully removed.  

“My parents have endorsed me, have expressed their support and while they are not here with me right now, due to a familial emergency in Tokyo, I just want those who doubt Stark tenacity, that I will not fail in this,” I finish.  I take a step back from the podium and try not to think about how much Mom would hate this. 

What I’ve told them… 

Lies. 

All of it, lies. 

 _Where are Tony and Pepper?_ they ask, phones and recording devices outthrust in my direction despite Jennifer saying I wouldn’t be taking any questions. 

 _Why did they leave their gala so early a few days ago?_ they ask as they snap pictures of the proud little Stark heiress and her superhero family. 

 _What do Tony and Pepper have to say about your new role?  Are they going to release a statement soon?_ they ask, uselessly. 

 _Has something happened? Has something happened to Tony and Pepper?_ one of them asks, a woman my father has had run-ins with for years. 

If what Mom has told me is true, they slept with each other one or two times in the past.

Hate sex at its finest.

Now she looks concerned, actually worried for a vulture and I hesitate as our gazes meet across the room. 

“Sorry, where are you from again?” I ask the very pretty middle-aged woman when I turn back to the podium, Steve’s hand firm on my elbow. 

He’s impatient; the atmosphere is too tense, too frantic.  He doesn’t like how restless the crowd has become, how edgy the few employees in residence are.  He’s waiting for a blow-up.  A full on riot. 

As he should be.    

I’ve given them nothing, nothing sound, or even reasonable but everyone in this room are professionals.  They know something is wrong and they know I’m not being the most forthcoming. 

And they want _in_. 

“I’m with the New York Post now, Miss Stark,” the blonde with stunning brown eyes says quietly.  Her hands are limp in her lap, her recording device off and her phone abandoned.  Her eyes are locked on me and I know she knows something truly disastrous has happened to the Stark family.

She was always the brightest of Dad’s vultures.

“Christine, right?”  I ask.  I’m leaning on the podium now, my hands folded over the edges.   Easy, relaxed. 

I’m piss-scared. 

She nods and I glance around the room before meeting Jennifer’s eyes.  She shrugs, instantly knowing what I want and I turn back to Christine.  “You,” I snap my fingers at her and point with a smirk on my lips, “I think I need to give the Post a statement, since Dad accidentally blew up one of the security droids on the Tower’s roof a couple nights ago.” 

The moment my feet leave the stage the hall erupts in questions and surging reporters; I barely notice Natasha and Jennifer darting into the crowd to escort Christine from the Post after us. 

None of the other reporters follow us though.

Adamantium claws, bionic arms and Kree powers tends to put a damper on riots, I discover.

“Where are we going Jack?” Carol snarls, her eyes golden and her fists tight in front of her face; she’s facing the crowd, pacing backwards, her blonde hair snapping and rippling with the fierce electricity she exudes. 

“Malibu,” I grit out, my hand firm on Christine’s arm.  “Dream House.  Dad trusts her.” I glance at our reporter; her eyes are wide and she’s looking a bit panicked at all of this rushing and pushing and Logan snarling _way to ruin our clean exit Stark_.  “I can trust you right?” I ask her and she nods.  “See?” I snap.  “Get us out of here in one piece.”

As we’re leaving the company my eyes flash over the crowd and I meet the cold gaze of Maxwell Kincaid standing calmly by the elevators; Rhodey is nowhere to be seen.

I bare my teeth at him in a sneer and salute before slipping out of the doors. 

I barely notice the Esther woman my father thought could possibly replace me standing on the stairs.

She’s holding a phone to her ear and her eyes are cold and calculating still. 

“It was interesting meeting you Jacqueline Stark!” she calls, her voice unusually confident. 

I don’t give her the time of day. 

“You’re coming with me,” I say to Christine as my car is brought around.  Steve starts to protest but I stall him out with a pointed glare.  “I want to keep my eye on her.  We’ll be safe Cap, don’t worry about us.  Just keep tight on my ass, and keep any of the vultures from following.  I don’t trust any of them.” 

There were too many pointed glares tonight, too many knowing remarks. 

Too much _knowledge._

I glance at Christine, who’s paled during our impromptu pow-wow beside our waiting cars, just past the barriers and security guards and her eyes are locked on me.

“What happened to you Jack?  You’ve changed…” she says and I have to laugh as I climb into the car; Steve helps Christine into the passenger seat and she visibly hyperventilates at his touch.

Not that I blame her. 

My family is pretty notorious with the press.

“Dad always did say you were the pushier of his fan-club,” I mutter while we buckle up.  She chokes out a small laugh and I smirk before turning the ignition.  “Right,” I mutter, “Let’s get out of here before they stone his car.” 

As we peel away from Stark Resilient I glance in the Lambo’s rearview mirror and watch the SR security guards struggle to contain the paparazzi and media personnel from swarming our cars. 

They’re struggling. 

The Mercedes’ headlights glare into my eyes a moment later, shielding any resulting chaos and I sigh. 

“Okay, we’re good,” I say to my companion as we make our way through the Business District towards the highway and Malibu. 

She’s still watching me carefully. 

“Tony told me what happened to you Jack,” she says after a few moments of tense silence, during which her brown eyes, impossibly kind and concerned actually well up with tears.  “He told me about that night in the warehouse, about Sam.  And Stane.  I’m so sorry Jacqui, so sorry…” 

Her hand stretches out to rest on mine as she speaks. My fingers tighten painfully on the steering wheel and my heart stutters in my chest at her words. 

But I don’t have a chance to respond.

I don’t have a chance to think.

I don’t have…

An answer.

Before I can even process what’s happening, there’s a blast behind us and impossibly my family’s staid black sedan flips in the air to land roof down directly in front of Christine and me.

Neither of us scream, even when the sedan, impossibly crumpled at the rear and apparently missing half of its trunk explodes. 

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” I hiss as I slam on the brakes and wrench the wheel as far as it will go; the Lamborghini skids on its racing tires and spins once, twice on its right side tires to face the opposite direction.

To face the way we’ve come.

Stark Resilient is no longer glowing in the distance; its glass façade is dark and the SR sign is ghostly on the LA skyscape. 

We don’t notice that though. 

Or at least I don’t. 

All I notice is the thing that’s come for us.

“Is that-“ Christine whispers, her hands raised to her pale cheeks, a dark bruise forming on her temple from where she’s struck the window; I wonder idly if she has a concussion.  Her pupils are blown…  “Is that-“

“Yes,” I croak, my blood cold in my veins as a familiar hum and groan fills the still LA air; my eyes swing forward to see a dark and monstrous shape rise out of the pavement of Grand Avenue.  There’s a red glow I know very well coming from chest plate and helmet.  “That’s a suit.”     

The Lambo’s halogen headlights provide a macabre setting for the monster suit heaving in the cracked cement and in my mind it’s far too similar to the first Bluebird’s silver arc reactor for me to think clearly. 

“Oh God,” I whisper as Christine starts to sob.  “ _Stane…_ ”

The helmet turns to face us and its slow turn is enough to fuel another five years of nightmares, another round of insanity and adamantium shackles.  All I see are those red eyes glaring at me and that harsh cut-out for a mouth snarling as the brute rises finally to its full height and stretches a monstrous metal hand in my direction, fingers curled as if to yank my heart from my chest.

Revenge for the heart I shattered in my own palm five years ago. 

“Get out,” I whisper to the shaking and most definitely concussed woman next to me.  “Christine, _get out._ ” 

I don’t know if she does. 

The suit, the suit out of my fucking _nightmares_ , rumbles on its geared feet and I’m scrambling with my seatbelt, desperate to get free, desperate to _run_. 

 _I can’t do this again.  I_ can’t _.  I’m not ready,_ I think wildly as the ground begins to tremble beneath the tires of my father’s cherry red sports car.  _I CAN’T GET OUT!_

The Iron Monger takes care of that for me. 

The sound of the door dissolving into screaming metal and shattering glass drowns my scream and another explosion from the Mercedes next to me. 

It drowns the police sirens in the distance.

It drowns my sanity.

For the second time in my life I’m gripped in the monstrously crafted fingers of an Iron Monger suit and lifted into the face of my greatest enemy. 

Like last time I have no chance to run. 

No chance to save myself.

“ _Hello again little Jacqui_ ,” that corrupted voice from my very nightmares growls as I struggle uselessly, panting and shaking between its fist.  “ _How do you like my new suit?_ ”

“Go to hell Stane,” I gasp when the Iron Monger’s fist tightens around my ribs, intent on crushing me once more.  My head falls back in agony and I whimper as I feel internalized pins and titanium pop and bend under the solid steel-titanium alloy of my tormenter.  “ _Go. To. Hell._ ” 

“ _Only if you’re coming too, Jacqui,_ ” my nightmare whispers, his face bent towards me, eyes glowing like red coals and lips lifted in a metal-fused sneer.  “ _Only if you’re coming too…_ ”

I black out to the sound of snapping bone and humming vibranium. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone  
> Let her find a way to a better place  
> Broken dreams and silent screams  
> Empty churches with soulless curses  
> We found a way to escape the day~Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Violence and a character death ahead. 
> 
> Also, extensive flashbacks. 
> 
> Proceed with caution!
> 
> Thanks to my love beta Ambpersand for reading this over and giving me her thumb's up! 
> 
> -M

_“Mom?”_

_She glances up at my uncertain voice in the doorway of her study and actually smiles._

_It’s tentative, worried and for a brief moment I contemplate walking away.  I…I don’t know how to talk to my mother anymore.  Haven’t for a very, very long time._

_“Yes Jacqueline?” she says, her voice just as uncertain as mine.  “Is something wrong?”_

_I hesitate and fiddle with the zipper of my favorite hoodie (it’s one of Sam’s.  It still smells like him, still reminds me of home) for a moment, thinking on how I should phrase my question just so, so she won’t go through the roof.  I swallow nervously when her blue eyes, far darker than mine or Dad’s drift from my face and back to the tablet she was studying before I interrupted and I blurt, “Can I go to the prom with Sam?!”_

_She freezes, her slender fingers arched over the tablet’s surface and she frowns._

_“_ Prom _?!” she repeats, utterly stunned and I groan internally at the confusion and irritation in her voice and eyes.  “With_ Sam _?!”_

_I sigh and glance over my shoulder back towards my father’s empty workshop and shrug.  “Yeah,” I mutter, wishing for all I’m worth that I was talking to Dad and not her.  “It’s our senior years Mom and he’s going to the USAFA in the Fall.  It’s…uh…”_

_She’s shaking her head, her lips pinched together and I brace myself for the tirade I’m sure is going to come next._

_She doesn’t disappoint._

_“Jacqueline Skye Stark you just transferred from St. Brutus’s to Pritchard.  Besides, you’re in_ New York _and Sam’s in_ California _,_ ” she says, her voice scolding and her eyes cold behind the lenses of her glasses. _“You can’t miss anymore school, not if you’re going to graduate!  Do you know how hard your father worked to get you into this school, into_ any _school?!  Are you going to throw that away?  What would he have to say?”_

_I shift and drop my eyes to the floor, muttering, “Wouldn’t know, would I, since you’ve left him and moved me to New York.”_

_She stiffens at that and stands slowly behind her massive mahogany desk.  “Young lady,” she begins, her voice dangerously cold and her eyes blazing.  “What did you say?!”_

_I look up and grit my teeth, my hands tight little fists at my side, “_ You left him because he refused to stop Iron Man and you didn’t let me have a chance to say goodbye and now I can’t go to prom with Sam! _” I snarl breathlessly, my words falling over each other in their haste to escape my lips and she is so pale, so furious but I can’t stop.  “You didn’t let me see_ anyone _, not Steve, not Carol, not Bucky, not even_ Rhodey _!  You pulled me out of Brutes and we flew to New fucking York and you won’t even tell me_ why _!”_

_My words trail off in a wail and I’m crying, tears spilling down my face and I’m sagged in the doorway absolutely miserable and Mom doesn’t even try to comfort me._

_She just stares._

_“Jack,” she says, her soft voice agonized.  “Jack you don’t need to know why, you just need to know I did it to keep you s-“_

_“Don’t say that!” I scream as I straighten.  “You don’t know anything!  Dad knows more about keeping me safe than you do!  You’ve been_ gone _Mom, in Japan or Seattle or_ wherever _and Dad and I went_ weeks _without seeing you!  You shouldn’t have the_ right _to keep me safe!”_

_She winces and her hand stretches in my direction, her fingers begging me to listen, to let her comfort me.  “Jack, please,” she says, her eyes brilliant in the warm glow of the arc reactor buried in her chest.  “I’m doing this for you, Jack.  I’m doing this to keep you safe…”_

_I back away from her and shake my head.  “I don’t want_ you _to keep me safe Mom,” I snarl and she winces at my words, at the hate in my eyes.  “I want_ Dad _to keep me safe.  I want to go back to Malibu, back to Dad.”_

_The sound of her crying behind me as I run for the front doors of the New York Stark family compound haunts my dreams for years to come…_

I’m sorry Jack _, I think I hear her whisper as I duck out onto 5 th Avenue, desperate to get away from her, from the house Dad hates as much as I do. _

I’m sorry…

Jack

JACK

_**_

“JACK!  JACQUELINE, YOU NEED TO OPEN YOUR EYES!!!”

Steve is bellowing, yelling at me but I am nothing but pain and blood and fear. 

I don’t want to open my eyes.

The Iron Monger grabbed me, I remember suddenly.  Gripped me tight and shattered my body once more. 

_Why am I not dead?_

Steve’s hands are firm on my body, he’s checking me for injuries, for broken bones and I laugh breathlessly for a moment.

_Pain._

“Don’t bother Cap,” I think I whisper to him; I can just make out his bloody and soot-stained face through my narrowed eyes and I wonder how many bones _he’s_ broken.  “Get Christine out,” I whisper and he pales even more beneath the grime.

I start to lose the light again…

“Jack, please, we need to get you out of here.  The emergency personnel can’t get through…” he’s saying, his voice echoing around my head and I smile dreamily in response.

I’m drifting, lost to memories and nightmares and vaguely I hear the sound of geared joints whirring in the distance and guns firing and adamantium screaming on titanium.

I hear a woman’s voice whimpering off to my left.

And fire crackling over leaking gasoline and spilled oil.

Sirens whine somewhere in the city, desperate to get to the battling superheroes.

And Bucky Barnes is laughing and teasing Natasha in Russian while Carol’s cursing and Steve’s saying my name over and over, his hands firm on my face, on my hands. 

“Jacqueline, come on, don’t do this to us again!” he shouts in my face and his shield is resting over his back, providing cover against the fire, against the shrapnel flying through the air.

It hurts to breathe and my arm is dead weight and my leg is screaming in agony and I think

“JACK, don’t fall back to sleep, please Jack, you have to stay awa-“

_No_

_**_

_“You’re destroying the face of Stark Resilient, Jacqueline.”_

_Mom’s cold voice behind me is enough to drag my attention away from the armature of my favorite robot that I’m trying to repair._

_“Yeah, what’d I do now?” I mutter, completely and utterly uninterested.  “Did the media learn about me flashing Kincaid at the last board meeting?  It certainly caught_ his _attention didn’t it?”_

_I snicker at that but she’s having none of it._

_“Why do you even bother wearing this,” she snarls, her hand flying out to grip my left one, the one with Sam’s engagement ring; she’s holding several tabloids, all with my face on the cover and blaring captions in neon colors declare things like,_ STARK HEIRESS RUNS RAMPANT WHILE HEROIC FIANCEE FIGHTS FOR COUNTRY _and_ WILL THE RHODES FAMILY CALL OFF ENGAGEMENT BETWEEN SON AND STARK HEIRESS?

 _“Hm?  Are you listening to me?”  Mom’s eyes are blazing behind her glasses and her face is lit oddly by the arc in her chest.  “Why do you wear his ring if you’re just going to sleep around with every_ thing _that buys you a drink?”_

_I’m frozen, the bot on my table forgotten and the workshop is silent, tense._

_We’re staring furiously at each other, our hackles up and our jaws jutted out defensively._

_Dad’s always said we’re too similar personality-wise; he thinks it’s why we’ve never gotten along._

_“You judging me_ Mother _?” I hiss, my eyes blazing behind the safety goggles I hate but JARVIS forces me to wear as per Dad’s orders whenever I’m in one of the family’s private workshops.  She’s still gripping my hand, still keeping me anchored to my seat.  My robot, Helper Bot 32, whines nervously and his ruptured hydraulics click and hiss as he tries to stretch his arm out towards me; he’s hoping to help, according to JARVIS, hoping to help his mistress._

_I ignore him._

_“I’m not_ judging _,” Mom snaps, still furious.  “I’m concerned.  You are Sam’s fiancée and he’s-“_

 _“Made his choices,” I snarl back as I yank my hand free of hers; I turn back to the bot I’m desperately trying to repair before Dad returns from an Avengers mission in New York and hunch my shoulders against her disgust.  “He didn’t listen to me when I told him I didn’t like him flying those drones last year and now he’s not listening again, off in Egypt somewhere, flying planes that are killing hundreds of innocent people and I’m here trying to ignore the fact that the man I love is_ a murderer _.  Don’t pretend to care or understand my reasons for doing this Mom,” I mutter as I stroke my hand gently over the bot’s claw.  “You can return to NYC and get back to your daily life. I’m fi-“_

 _“You are_ not _fine, Jacqueline!” she snaps and I imagine her hands rising to twist in her hair; I don’t look to see if I’m right.  “You are not handling this well and you’re bringing your father’s company d-“_

_I stand at that and brush past her.  “You’d think the world would be used to a Stark fucking up,” I mutter to myself._

_She hears it._

_“Well, it’s not,” she says from behind me.  “You are not your father Jacqueline; you are not the playboy star of Stark Enterprises.  You are an engaged woman set to marry a decorated war-hero and you are the projected President of Stark Resilient.  You were always cast as the precious Stark daughter.  You were never supposed to mess up.”_

_I sigh and rest my hands on the counter beside the coffee pot, my eyes closed, thinking of the news article I read just this morning about the conflict in Egypt.  In this latest worthless slaughter, the Air Force bombed a village full of women and children, all because of a rumor that a weapons stash may have been located within its boundaries._

_They dropped bombs on that tiny village that most likely didn’t even hold the contraband the military wanted, all for the sake of counter-terrorism and patriotism and the “great American way.”_

_They’d stopped tallying the bodies after reaching two-hundred, with no projected end in sight to the casualties, according to international reports._

_And here I am, safe in one of my family’s mansions, still in my dress from the night before, my feet strapped into gold stilettos that make my back hurt and the diamond on my finger seems to weigh a metric ton these days, the longer I go without hearing from Sam, without apologizing to my Mom, to my fiancée, to my family._

_I try to ignore the dull ache between my legs and the too-stretched feeling in my thighs._

_I don’t even try to remember the name of last night’s guy._

_Or the club we met at._

_There’s no point._

_To any of this._

_To my life._

_“Yeah, well, if I was supposed to be perfect I should have been given the Potts name instead.”  My voice is harsh with the tears welling in my eyes and_ _I_

**

I can smell blood.

Lots of blood.  It’s overwhelming and too hot and too _familiar_ and I gag, the fingers of my still working right hand digging into my aching collar bones as I start to panic. 

 _Is that me?_ I think.  _Or is it…which one of my family died_ this _time?_

“Jack are you still with us?”

My eyes flutter open at Carol’s soft, agonized voice and I groan as pain shoots through my chest.

I think I’ve only been out for a moment.

Or maybe it’s been eons.

I can’t tell.

They still haven’t brought down my nightmare.  But at least they all seem to be here…

 _Maybe nobody’s died this time,_ I think. 

Optimistic. 

Broken.

“Steve,” I choke out and Carol’s wrapping her scarf around my chest, yanking it tight with each circuit it makes and I wail at her touch. 

My ribs are most definitely broken.

Somebody’s turned their undershirt into a sling for my left arm; I think it’s been broken and the shoulder’s dislocated. 

 _Did a number on me Stane_ , I think wildly, the words scattered and pained.  _Good job…_

Someone is supporting me, his broad chest steady behind my back and his arms are locked tight around me, anchoring my aching body. 

“I’m here Jack,” Steve says, his voice weary and my vision spins as my blood and dirt encrusted hair sticks to my face. _More blood…_ “We’re going to try and get you out before-“

There’s a blast just ahead and my head lolls across Steve’s shoulder in time to see a steel grey suit with fierce red eyes and a machine gun at its shoulder plummet towards the still fighting Iron Monger.

_War Machine._

_Rhodey._

_Oh God, please, don’t kill another Rhodes for me_ , my mind screams even as I lose touch with my sanity once more and my visions spots. 

But I can’t drift off again, I have to stay awake for Carol and Steve and Christine.  So I force myself to focus.

To locate each member of my family.

To make sure they’re all still breathing.

Still fighting.

I can just make out Jennifer’s green skin and Natasha’s streaming red hair beyond the Iron Monger’s massive legs; Jennifer’s arms bulge as she lifts a chunk of cement straight from the pavement, her legs braced with the weight of her impromptu weapon. 

She tosses it at the Iron Monger as easily as I tossed that holographic arc reactor into Dad’s “trash can” earlier today.

Natasha’s knives are sticking out of the monster suit’s base repulsors.  My lips twitch at the sight of sparks flying from the battered tech.  She’s smiling fiercely, blood trickling from a gash in her forehead to trail over her jaw and onto her brown leather jacket.

She’s as stunning as I remember her being, so long ago when I was little and she and Barnes would come over for beer and pizza; they taught me how to swear in Russian.  Taught me how to fire a gun.

Bucky used to let Sam and me swing from his arm; he'd stand at Natasha's side while they talked to my parents and we would laugh and try to bend the bionic joint.  

We never did manage it...

Now he has his fist buried in the things jaw, his metal fingers grinding and tearing at pirated tech, even as he blasts bullets from his handgun into the thing’s face.

Logan’s claws flash in the red glow of two red arc reactors and there are sparks from the suit’s back as he drags them down towards the pavement, his teeth bared in a fierce grin; he’s bare backed and I realize it’s his shirt they’re using for my sling. 

Wires and shrapnel fly free with each strike the heroes pound out on the massive suit, the suit that’s still upright and still swinging, the red eyes constantly searching for its one true prize.

Me. 

“Still fighting,” I slur when Carol shields my body from a spray of cement chunks flying in my direction after the two suits slam bodily together.  I can hear Jennifer screaming for Logan to sink his claws into the thing’s head, _take the bastard out before it gets to Jacqui!_   “Shouldn’t-you should go- _my fault_ ,” I groan, my head tucked against Steve’s neck as he begins to shift my body carefully into his arms. 

The pain is beyond _excruciating_.

Carol glances at me and then towards the smoldering remains of the Lamborghini the Iron Monger stands on and Steve sighs in my ear.

He’s cradling me against his chest now. 

I’m warm…

“Can you get Christine out, Carol?” he mutters and my vision sharpens at her uncertain expression.

“I-I don’t know,” she stammers, her golden eyes locked on the shattered remains of Dad’s cars; her hands are just tight little fists of light and I can almost _see_ her indecision.  “She’s-she’s-the Iron Monger’s standing _right there_ Cap!”

“Christine?” I ask, my voice surer now that my lungs are cradled in silk and not shattered bone and bent titanium pins, and I search wildly for the pretty reporter my Dad used when he wanted to disrupt the status quo.  “Where is she?  Is she okay?”

Neither answer. 

Which is, of course, all of the answer I need.

I’m struggling in Steve’s arms, despite the sling on my left arm and the bandages around my rib cage and the stabbing, familiar pain in my leg. 

“Let me go, let me go,” I whimper and Steve does, if only to keep me from further damaging myself. 

“Jack, please-“ he says but I’m hobbling away, my legs desperately trying to keep me upright despite my busted hip; I’m heading straight into harm’s way, with nothing but some shattered bones and titanium reinforcements keeping me upright.

I can’t bring myself to care for my safety though. 

I know what I’m going to find. 

“Please,” I whisper, tears in my eyes and so many memories threatening to break me.  “Please, not her.” 

I don’t want another innocent’s death on my hands.

There’s a blast just to my left, in the direction of the still fighting superheroes and my feet slide out from beneath me as the pavement buckles and surges.  I collapse beside the driver’s side of the battered Lambo and my elbow nudges the silver clutch I used tonight during my meeting at Stark Resilient. 

I dropped it when the Iron Monger snatched me up.

I absently pick it up and drag it with me on my search for Christine from the New York Post and my father’s sordid past. 

I find her. 

I think I know where the smell of blood was coming from.

“Get out of here Jack.  Don't-just go,” she whispers, her voice agonized as she writhes beneath an Italian sports car’s chassis and tries desperately to keep her bowels contained. 

There’s blood streaming from her nose.

From the corners of her mouth.

Too much blood.

Again.

“Jack, please…”

Somebody’s screaming…

I think it might be me…

It’s going dark again…

 _Why is there blood in my hair_? I think as my body pitches forward over Christine’s just as a mighty metal fist slams into the pavement beside us and a voice bellows

_STARK!_

_**_

_“Jack, your father and Rhodey are going to get Sam back.  You should just stay put.”_

_I don’t even look to where Pepper’s standing in the doorway of the Malibu house’s workshop.  I know she’s hoping I’ll talk to her, cry for her, apologize to her._

_But I won’t do it._

_Any of it._

_“JARVIS, narrow the spec’s please,” I mutter to Dad’s computer, my fingers spread across the screens and my tired eyes searching, desperately, for any sign of my husband’s kidnappers._

_The golden band on my finger glints in the harsh light of Dad’s shop, almost as if it’s saying “Good luck keeping him this time.”_

_“IP code traced to the shipping district, Mrs. Rhodes,” the computer says after an interminable moment and I cut that off at the knees right away._

_“Stark, J,” I snap, my eyes locked on the warehouse JARVIS has found for me. “I’m a Stark before I’m a Rhodes.”  My eyes are locked on the building they’ve squirreled themselves away in._

_The warehouse with the pulsing signal on its roof._

_Tucked away in the shipping district._

Abandoned _, JARVIS provides._ Formerly of HAMMER Industries.

Of course, _I think as I toe out of my pinching shoes and remove the elegant Tiffany’s tiara from my braided hair._

_The sound of diamonds and priceless silver falling to the cement is loud in the workshop and Pepper gasps._

_“My apologies Miss Stark,” JARVIS says, his voice only mildly chagrined and I watch as he adjusts the parameters in his coding, allowing him to circumvent Dad’s programming and return my name to Stark.  “Shall I notify the authorities as to Lieutenant Rhodes-“_

_“No,” I snarl and I’m backing away from the computer, my feet tangled in the tulle of my gown.  “Don’t bother.  I’ll take care of it J.  Good job.”_

_Pepper’s still standing in the doorway, her face pale and deep shadows under her eyes._

_The past day has been just as trying for my family as it has been for me._

_“W-what are you going to do Jack?” she asks, her voice agonized as I gather my gown in my hands and head for the bathroom at the rear of the shop.  “You’re not-you’re not going after these men are you?  You-you can’t!”_

_I hesitate in the doorway of the bathroom and finally turn to face her._

_It’s the first time I’ve actually looked at her in years._

_She’s not even grey._

_There are no lines on Pepper Potts’ face._

_No sign that she’s far past middle-aged._

_Dubious benefit of a golden heart I suppose._

_“I can do whatever I want Pepper,” I hiss in her face; she’s hurried to me, her hands extended as if she hopes she will be able to hold me back from the inevitable.  “They have my husband and I’m going to do whatever I need to, to make sure they pay for that.”_

_Her eyes widen and she watches from the doorway as I begin finally removing my wedding dress._

_I’ve been in it for over a day, since the night of my wedding when I came to our room here in the Dream House and found my husband gone and a note from a madman telling me:_

I have a game for you Jacqui. 

Sam wants to play too.

What do you say sweetheart?

Want to pass go and collect his broken body?

I’m waiting.

Z.S.

_The dress puddles at my feet and I’m standing in nothing but lace underwear and bustier._

_“Jack, please,” she says and I jerk my eyes from the ivory satin gown I stand over to meet hers in the mirror.  She swallows nervously and she is no longer the confident Pepper Potts who raised me._

_She looks…broken._

_It’s strange and terrifying._

_She was always the strongest of us._

_“Please, just go Mom,” I say and my voice is far gentler with her than it has been since I returned from Africa two years ago.  “You don’t need to see this.”_

_Her hand rises to stroke the braids and curls of my wedding up-do and her eyes are agonized and so miserable I wish, briefly, to wrap her in my arms and say I’m sorry for all of the shit I’ve done to her._

_But we all have our parts to play._

_However odious._

_“I love you Jack,” she whispers as her fingers trail over my cheek.  “I-I’m sorry I never told you that before.”_

_And then she is gone and when I finally step out of the bathroom a moment later, my hair in a simple braid down my back, there is something waiting for me on the armory’s platform._

_A suit._

_Rescue._

_Mine now._

_“JARVIS,” I say, my eyes locked on the pointed helmet of my mother’s last suit.  “Let’s give that a paint job shall we?  And make sure that location you found is the right one, or at least on the right path.  I don’t want to kill the wrong man, now do I?”_

_“Of course not Miss Stark,” the computer replies as Rescue is disassembled and given one last pre-flight once over and a paint job._

_It’s not until the cold metal is sliding over my skin that I wonder why my mother’s helping me.  Why she’s sacrificing her suit for her daughter._

_I tell myself I’ll ask her when I get Sam back._

_When I’m ready to apologize._

_When I’m not scared anymore._

**

“ _STARK I AM GOING TO FINISH THIS WITH YOU RIGHT NOW!_ ”

I snap back to reality at the sound of the Iron Monger’s voice bellowing in my ear and I turn to face my nightmare head-on.

The suit towers over me, the metal of its limbs dented and dinged and I wonder briefly how the person within can still be standing.

Wires explode from each joint, from each ruptured panel and my eyes narrow as my mind sharpens and begins analyzing the damage. 

The very _extensive_ damage.

Suddenly I’m standing and my fingers are locked around something tiny and round that I’ve found in my clutch.  My eyes are tearing, streaming from the fumes of spilled gasoline and burning oil but I can still see the monster’s eyes. 

Can still feel them on my battered body.

It’s looming to the point where it blocks out what little light there once was on this quiet stretch of road leading away from the LA business district towards the Pacific. 

I can hear my family shouting in the distance, shouting for me to get away, to run.

Honestly, there’s really no point in running anymore. 

I’m sick of running away from the Iron Monger.

“So,” I say to my nightmare, my voice calm despite the pain wracking my body and the woman dying at my back.  “How are you doing the remote control Stane?  That’s a Stark thing, not your thing.” 

The suit pauses and the helmet cocks.

And that’s when I know I’m right. 

Remote controlled Iron Monger.

There’s no one in this suit.  It’s a ghost, a bundle of metal and wires with nothing even resembling human intelligence in that snarling helmet.

Stane’s playing long-distance.

Just what I need.

“This is the original suit,” I muse as I take a step closer, my fist tight around the object I hold; my clutch still lies beside Christine’s weakening body.  But I can’t worry about her now. 

I have a game to play.

My mind is sharp finally, focused.

Gone are the memories of Mom yelling at me.

Gone are the nightmares of me failing slowly at being the Stark she wanted me to be.

Now I’m focused on being the Stark I was always _meant_ to be.

“This is the suit I destroyed five years ago,” I continue, my eyes drifting over the finger molds in the monster’s faceplate; they’ll match the Bluebird’s perfectly, I know.  “Granted, whoever is running you, they did a good job in repairing and replacing what I broke.  But why?  Why not just build a new suit?  Unless you’re just doing this as a test-run…A trial.” 

My blood runs cold at the thought and I sway dangerously where I stand. 

I manage to stay upright though. 

I won’t fall until this suit falls. 

That I promise myself.

“ _How did you know_?” the empty suit asks and I snort.

“Really?  You’re going to ask me that?” I snap and I’m directly under it now, eye-level with the red arc reactor.  I can see the palladium core whirring behind structured glass and I wonder where _this_ particular heart came from. 

_How did you get enough palladium to make a new arc?  Dad bought it all and locked it away after Obadiah and Ezekiel and Hammer…_

“You really are too stupid,” I mutter, my right hand rising to rest against the suit’s chest.  “I’m a goddamned Stark.  And the suit technology has been bred into me Stane or whoever you are.  I was always going to be better at this then you.”

The red eyes are still implacably glaring at me.

It’s completely unaware that I’m going to destroy it.  Again.

Even when I edge my fingers under the core and push my little surprise into its heart it keeps staring, its user processing my words, processing the threat I present, but not what I’m actually doing to its puppet. 

 _Oops_ , I think, my fingers buried in its chest.  _Your sight parameters are too broad, love.  Can’t see what I’m doing, can you?_

“I think this was a failed trial Stane,” I hiss as my thumb presses into a button on the surface of my little present.  “Better luck next time.”

The suit’s hand starts to rise, probably in the hopes of crushing me once and for all, but before it can…

The Iron Monger’s chest explodes and I’m tossed backwards to crumple, stunned and more than a little toasted, beside Christine’s broken body. 

“What-was-that?” she breathes, her words drowned in blood and I smile as the suit out of my fucking nightmares falls once more, heart blown and red eyes blank thanks to the genius of Jacqueline Stark and her Dad.

“Para-arc,” I choke as my fingers dance with the last featherings of electricity dancing through my nerves.  “Took out the Hulk once.” 

“Damn,” she whispers before the coughing starts. 

I’m frozen, listening to the death rattle in her lungs and my eyes are locked on the crumpled metal frame of my enemy’s toy.

 _Remote controlled,_ I think absently as my family starts to arrive, their voices panicked and blurry at the far reaches of my mind.  _From where though_? 

Steve launches himself over the broken Lambo and falls to his knees beside our broken bodies, his shield at his side and I thank God that he was able to save it from the burning Mercedes.

He’s desperately trying to help Christine, even as Barnes and Logan arrive and start in my direction.  “Oh shit,” Logan breathes, his claws finally retracted now that the threat is gone.  “ _Shit_ Jacqui!”

As the other heroes arrive, their voices frantic in the toxic LA air, Barnes’ boot connects with what looks like a lipstick tube that’s fallen from my clutch and I sob as the cool metal settles against my fingers. 

 _Compound 41,_ Bruce Banner whispers in the back of my head.  _Should heal most injuries.  The worse it is the longer it will take of course, and it’ll hurt like a bitch.  But it should be good for your Dad and any of the other human Avengers.  Make sure he gets it.  He’ll be able to replicate it now that I’ve perfected it.  Don’t tell anyone though Jacqui._

_Don’t tell anyone._

“Steve,” I whisper as I haul myself upright, broken bones forgotten and the worry about the location of my enemy shelved for now.  “Move out of the way.” 

My fingers are tight around the little gray tube I absently tucked away along with the para-arc into the depths of my silver clutch tonight before leaving the house to face off with the SR board.

“Jacqui, no!” he snaps and Barnes steadies me as my hip gives out.  I can hear Rhodey in the distance, coordinating with the emergency personnel who have finally arrived; but I don’t focus on that. 

“Move,” I croak as I push Captain America’s panicked hands from Christine’s bloody waist.  “I can-I can fix this.” 

She’s struggling, sobbing and whimpering, her fingers shaking in Carol’s and her head buried in Natasha’s lap.

Her hair is no longer blonde. 

It’s black with blood.

Jennifer’s standing over us, her hands folded behind her head and her business suit is nothing but ragged strips hanging from her limbs.

She’s alive, though, just like the rest of them.

My family has survived this nightmare.

But as is always the case in these things, an innocent woman has paid the price. 

 _My fault,_ I think as I unscrew the cap of Compound 41 clumsily with one hand.  All of the superheroes are staring at the tube but Christine is convulsing, her blood trickling past our knees to mingle with the oil and gas draining from the two cars at our backs. 

I don’t meet her gaze, don’t hear Steve saying my name, don’t pay attention to Bucky Barnes’ cold metal fingers at my waist, carefully trying to pull me away from my father’s favorite reporter’s body. 

I don’t-

“I’m sorry,” I sob as I uselessly run spicy scented clear gel along the edges of her wounds.  “I’m sorry Christine,” I whisper as her lungs take one-two-three breaths before falling silent. 

_I’m sorry._

_**_

_“I’m sorry Jack,” Mom whispers at my side one night after Sam's death.  She’s holding my hand, careful of the needles sticking out of my skin and the wires that twist and twine from a small army of machinery at my head.  “I should have-should have stopped you, instead of giving you Rescue.”_

_My mind is vague, dreamy, locked in the state of rest Stephen Strange has forced on me._

_I don’t feel anything._

_I don’t_ need _to feel anything._

_“Your father-your father is beside himself.  He’s locked himself away in the workshop,” she whispers, her fingers chafing mine and I wonder how long she’s been here._

_Talking to me._

_Holding me._

_Why is she doing this?_

_“He doesn’t want to lock you away but the Illuminati-and you-want it.  He doesn’t know what to do._ I _don’t know what to do.  He misses you.”_

_She’s crying._

_I don’t feel anything._

_“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry,” she whispers and she’s resting her forehead against the railings of my bed, my hand pressed against her lips._

_I can feel her warm breath washing over my knuckles, against the bare knuckle of my left ring finger._

_I can feel that._

_The warmth and the emptiness._

_“I’m sorry Mom,” I whisper as my eyes drift closed and my mind goes blank._

_Sorry._

**

“I’m sorry Jacqueline,” Stephen Strange whispers at the corners of my sanity that night when they finally get me back to Malibu; his hands are firm on my chest and his grey eyes are shadowed with the powers he’s preparing to use on me once more. 

I groan and close my eyes as Carol grips my hand and tells me everything will be fine, her voice ragged.

Strange doesn’t agree; he just adjusts his hands and whispers a few words I don’t understand before saying to me, “I have to set your ribs before my magic can start to repair your injuries, Jacqui.  I’m sorry, this is going to hurt.” 

He sighs and I can’t help thinking he sounds older than I remember.  Greyer. 

“Hold her steady for me Captain, Major.”

He presses his palms against my chest, his fingers spread at each shattered rib, his palms resting over my straining lungs and Steve holds my head gently between his wide hands, while Rhodey rests his on my ankles; together they pin me to the bed, so the sorcerer can work his magic.

They think the pain will be too much for me. 

They shouldn’t worry though. 

I don’t feel anything.

I’m broken. 

Again. 


	12. Chapter 12

Soft voices are twining through my dreams, speaking words like _the suit is in Tony’s workshop, all in pieces_ and _is she going to pull through this Stephen?  Mentally, I mean_ and _I just wish we could find Tony and Pepper without dragging Jack back into this._

They’re irritating. 

“Mom,” I croak, my head turning to the vaguely familiar woman’s voice speaking at my side.  I keep my eyes closed, closed against the light beating against my eyelids and the foggy pain I still feel along the edges of my limbs. “Mom, I’m sorry…”

A soft hand is suddenly there, stroking my hand in soothing patterns, the fingers callused and warm.  _Not Mom’s_. “It’s Carol Jack, Carol.  Pepper’s not here.  Do you need some water?  Are you in pain?”

“Get Stephen,” another voice murmurs in the distance and there’s the sound of someone moving away, his steps hurried.  A familiar musk washes over my nose and my skin bumps in response.

I groan and turn my head away from them, my body desperately trying to curl in on itself as I process that this is not my mother holding me, soothing me, but before I can, stronger hands than Carol’s stop me from doing so. 

Dangerously familiar hands…

“Jacqueline, you need to keep still,” Stephen Strange is saying, his voice concerned and weary as his fingers twine through mine; I briefly wonder why I’m gripping him so tightly, so desperately and I try not to think about how he smells a bit like Dad.  How his hands _feel_ like Dad’s.  “Your body is still healing.  You must let it do so.” 

“Please,” I whisper, tears beginning to trickle down my cheeks as I struggle with my body, with my mind.  “Please…”

Silence falls in which I can hear the soft rustle of clothes and the four people who sit with me breathing gently. 

I envy them that breath. 

It feels like I’m trying to breathe through moss. 

My ribs ache…

“Please what Jack?” Steve asks quietly and my eyes peel themselves open so I can see his face.  He smiles at the sight of my drugged gaze flickering to life before his.  “What do you need?”

There are bruises fading to yellow smudges on his jaw and cheeks. 

Rhodey is standing over him, his hand resting on the back of Steve’s chair and he’s smiling wearily at me. 

I try to ignore the sadness in his eyes.

In all of their eyes…

“Sorry,” I grind out, my vision spinning as Strange’s hand smooths over my brow, his voice murmuring a few indecipherable words as he does so.  “Sorry, I fucked up Steve…I-I failed.  Again.” 

My words are slurred, muddled, but I think he understands.

There are tears on his cheeks.

“No Jacqui,” he says, his voice gentle, pained; there are shadows in his eyes.  He’s seen so much, our noble Captain.  Too much.  “No, this was not your fault.  This was the person who’s screwing around with you.  This was not _you_ Jacqueline Stark.  Do you hear me?”

His hand is firm on my arm, next to Carol’s. 

Warm.

They’re both so warm. 

“Okay,” I whisper as my mind begins to drift.  “Okay Steve.”  I swallow heavily when Strange’s hand passes once more over my forehead, his fingers gentle in my tangled hair.  “Where’s Dad?” I slur, my eyes beginning to drift closed with whatever drugs or magic they’ve pumped into my body.  “I want-want Dad…” 

I think one of them answers. 

Rhodey maybe.

“He’ll be here soon Jacqui.  Just rest and we’ll get him for you.” 

I sigh and finally let go of Carol’s hand.

She stays close though, her hand resting at my hip, within easy reach. 

I should thank her for that…

“We’ll be right here until Tony comes, okay Jack?” she says and her voice is rough with tears.  Or is it just irritation?  She’s always irritated with me it seems…

“Try to sleep Jack,” Steve murmurs and his fingers are running gently over my arm, soothing and warm. 

Dad would do that when I didn’t feel well as a child. 

“We’re right here Jacqui,” someone says. 

Their voices are going now, just ghostly murmurs on the edges of my sanity.  I finally let my pain go, let my mind go and I’m drifting…

“Okay,” I mumble into my pillow, my fingers twisting into the sheets I lie under, before going limp.  “Thank you…”

 _Of course_ , the sorcerer supreme whispers in my mind, his voice dark with magic and healing.  _Of course…Now sleep Jacqueline, sleep dreamlessly.  You are safe.  You are safe with us._

_Okay._

**

They’re sleeping when I wake up later. 

I don’t know what time it is or what day it is. 

Or even if it _is_ day. 

I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep anymore.  I can’t lie here listening to Carol’s soft breath or Steve’s snores or Rhodey’s knees popping as he stretches his legs out in front of him.

There’s no sign of the sorcerer. 

I can’t help being relieved. 

For a long moment after I open my eyes to relative clarity I do nothing but analyze.  I test my limbs, starting with the fingers of my unbound right arm and moving on from arm to legs. 

Other than a ghostly ache in my ribs, a dull throbbing at my hip and my left arm in its sling, I’m fine.

Or as fine as can be expected. 

At least this time my leg isn’t broken. 

I sigh in relief and sit up slowly.  My vision spins slightly but it doesn’t _lurch_ or even spot so I take that as a good sign. 

My babysitters are still sleeping, despite the rustling I’m making in my bed, their bodies sprawled wherever they were when sleep finally took them. 

Carol’s curled up in Jessica’s lap. 

I didn’t notice Jessica when I first woke up; I don’t know if she was even here when they finally dragged me back to Malibu.  For the first time in years, or at least in the years I’ve known her, she actually looks peaceful, with her arms around her partner’s waist, their faces bent close together. 

It’s almost touching seeing two of my fiercest family members so domestic, their hair, black and gold, tangled together and their hands gripped tightly in the other’s. 

“Okay,” I whisper as I pull my eyes away from Spider-Woman and her Captain.  “Okay, I can do this.” 

I have to pee. 

And I have to walk.

I can’t lie here anymore, can’t keep still. 

Can’t sleep…

Steve’s head is resting on his folded arms at the side of my bed, his left hand with Sharon’s golden wedding band on his heart finger, extended towards where I lay.  As if he was holding my hand while I slept.  I move away from him but the comforter shifts under his arms and his snores stammer for a moment and I freeze, half out of the bed, my toes arched over the fuzzy carpet of my floor. 

I hold my breath, which increases the ache in my chest. 

His snores pick up where they left off and he settles once more against the mattress, his face peaceful in sleep.

I sigh and finally slip free, making my way towards the bathroom.

I’m not as smooth gaited as I was a few hours (days?) previously.  I stumble in the middle of the room and hiss between my teeth when my bad hip, the one Strange worked on last night (?) buckles, causing me to sag against the wall by Rhodey’s chair. 

Thankfully he doesn’t stir either, his head lolls against the back of the chair and his breath whistles from his nose.  

It would be sweet if his face wasn’t covered in stitches and his knuckles weren’t swollen and bruised. 

My eyes flutter closed at the twisting agony shooting up my leg and I shift carefully to the undamaged one, my fingers pressing against the damaged bone desperately. 

“Should have stayed in bed,” I grumble to myself but damn, I _really_ have to pee now, so I grit my teeth and drag myself to the toilet. 

Anyway, the pain is lessening with every moment. 

With every breath. 

With every stubborn beat of my heart. 

I should ask JARVIS what the damage is this round.  I should study past and present health parameters and prepare for the suit. 

I should be doing so much _stuff._

But all I can focus on is…

“My fault,” I whisper to my reflection after I’ve taken care of my body’s most pressing urge and splashed some cold water on my face.  “My fault…”

The skin beneath my eyes is bruised, whether from trauma or lack of sleep, I’m not sure.  My cheeks are pale and thinner than before.  Every inch of my skin seems to be covered in bruises, in scrapes and cuts. 

Most of which are fading or healing, thanks to Strange and his magic. 

But no amount of magic will help my soul or my mind, I think.

I feel grey.

Frayed. 

“Running out of steel, Stark,” I whisper to myself as I bow my head and try not to think of this new way I’ve failed my father. 

What will he say when they tell him Christine died because of me?  What will he _do_?

There are so many times I have wished it could have been me, instead of Sam and now Christine, me to die and not them. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I leave the bathroom and head slowly for my bedroom door. 

And I am. 

Sorry for this whole travesty that is the life of Tony Stark’s daughter. 

**

I’m on the balcony when Stephen Strange finds me. 

I’ve discovered it’s nighttime but I don’t think it’s the same night we lost Christine, or even the night after. 

The moon’s out. 

And the Pacific’s smooth as glass. 

 _How much time have I lost?_ I think nervously as I gaze at the stars overhead.  _Have my parents given up?  Are they even_ breathing _at this point?_

“You should be sleeping still,” Strange murmurs and his voice is so soft I almost don’t catch it over the whisper of the wind. 

I glance in his direction and shrug my good shoulder.  “I don’t sleep much anymore, not after Sam and Rykers,” I say as I turn back to look at the ocean spreading beneath my parent’s house. 

He’s quiet, just leaning on the balcony railing beside me, his cloak gone and his hair tousled. 

He looks as exhausted as I feel. 

I wonder, idly, if he’ll ever retire, let some other shmuck take up the mantle of supreme.  Danny maybe, or Billy. 

I wonder…

 _Do you regret your life?_ I almost ask.  But I don’t.  I just watch the tiny waves wash over the stones beneath my parent’s house.

Some things are better left unasked.

“The moon is one of the great mysteries of the astral plane,” he says after a long, silent moment, his voice mellow in the shadows.  “She is both inanimate and yet, animate.  She provides an energy not found in herbs or half-forgotten words of lore.  She can heal and she can maim, depending on the darkness of her face.”  He sighs and turns to face me.  “Jacqueline…”

I continue staring at the moon’s reflection on the waves below us and try not to sigh in resignation.

Dad never had much patience with Doctor Strange and his sorcerous ways.

I’m discovering I don’t either.  He should just let go, let _me_ go; he’s going to kill himself fixing me the next time and I really don’t want his blood on my hands as well. 

That would be the ultimate failure.

“Jacqueline I can hear where your thoughts go,” he says and he is towering over me now, drawn to his full height and his eyes blaze with shards of his power.

I still refuse to look at him. 

“You do your parents and this family a dishonor with these thoughts.”  His hand settles on mine, where I have it resting against the smooth cement of the balcony’s railing.  I don’t pull away from him.

I vaguely remember thinking his touch felt like Dad’s when he sought to repair my broken body. 

I’m selfish enough to want that again. 

“Have you ever realized that no matter what you do, no matter what you say, your life doesn’t really mean anything in the end?” I ask the sorcerer, my eyes closed and my face raised to the moon’s cool glow and the Pacific’s briny touch. 

He’s quiet but then his fingers tighten around mine and he sighs.

“Many times, Jacqueline Stark, more times than I care to recall,” he says, his deep voice melodic and soothing. I find myself leaning into that voice, documenting it and storing it in the recesses of my mind.  This is a different Strange than any I have come across in the past; he’s more human than supreme in this moment. “But that does not mean I should stop striving for good, stop striving for meaning,” he finishes.   

My lips twitch in a small smile at that and I shake my head wryly. 

“You heroes,” I grumble, my eyes finally opening to meet his.  “You know how hard you make it for us run-of-the-mill humans?  You make us look so _bad_ even when we’re good.” 

He smiles, a tiny smile that makes the crows-feet at his eyes crinkle becomingly, and his hand moves to cup my cheek.

“You are anything but run-of-the-mill Jacqueline Stark,” he murmurs and his eyes are heartbreakingly honest.  “You are good and you are so very much your parents’ daughter.  They would be proud of you, if they knew what you have done these past few days.” 

My smile slips a bit at that and I turn back to the ocean so he cannot see the agony in my face, the indecision; his hand falls from my cheek and I sigh. 

“I wish I could believe you Strange, I really do,” I mutter, the fingers of my right hand fisting against the cool cement I lean far too heavily upon.  “But my parents have never been proud of me.” 

There’s a soft chuckle from behind me and he murmurs, “Perhaps,” but when I turn to face him I’m alone on the balcony. 

“Magic,” I grumble to myself, my skin rippling into goosebumps and before I can think too much on the sorcerer’s words, I go inside. 

The house is quiet. 

Everyone is still asleep. 

Like I should be.

But I am wide awake now. 

And thinking. 

“JARVIS?” I call softly as I head for the kitchen and what I hope is a fully stocked fridge (you never know, between the Young Avengers, the super-soldiers and Luke Cage, sometimes multiple trips to the grocery store are in order _daily_.  It’s the little details like this that I’ve forgotten about my family the past few years).  “You awake buddy?”

“Of course Miss Stark,” he says a moment later as the kitchen lights flicker on and I smile before heading to the fridge.  “How may I be of assistance?  If you are curious about the turkey lunchmeat Mrs. Cage brought a few days previous, I must warn it is a bit off.” 

I chuckle at that, knowing he jokes purely for my benefit (Dad and his computer) and I begin pulling supplies from the shelves. 

I silently bless whoever got Golden Lion Chinese and mutter to the computer, “I think I remember hearing someone say Stane’s suit is here J?  Please tell me that’s true.” 

He’s quiet for a moment as I balance three boxes of leftovers (Chinese, Mexican _and_ pizza, _jackpot_ ) on my slinged forearm and then he says, “Yes Miss Stark.  The supposed Iron Monger suit is indeed in residence.  Shall I commence scans on said tech madam?” 

I nod and mutter, with difficulty, thanks to the boxes under my chin, “Yeah, do that J.  I’ll be down to help in a sec.”

It’s a small victory when I get to the workshop without dropping any of my food.

It’s an even bigger victory that no one has woken and noticed me gone from the bed.

Other than Strange that is.

But sorcerers are always tricky.

It’s just the way life is with superheroes I suppose. 

“Let’s get this party started boys,” I mumble a few moments later, a forkful of very amazing General Tso’s shoved in my mouth.

I’m standing over the metallic corpse of my enemy.

And I’m actually kind of excited.

“Let’s begin tracking that remote signal J; I want to know where this bastard came from…”

**

My phone rings an hour into my analysis. 

I almost don’t notice it, still not entirely used to having such a luxury as a phone, but by the time I do, JARVIS has already diverted the call to his servers. 

And begun tracking it.

He knows us Stark’s so well.

“Hey-o, Stark’s phone.  Who’s this?” I ask from the middle of my father’s workshop, my back straight and my head held high. 

My eyes are locked on the screens JARVIS has lit and diverted for this call. 

One is showing a map of greater LA. 

The other is preparing to analyze the vocal patterns of the caller. 

My skin is cold, chilled, and for a moment I imagine I smell nothing but blood and burning gasoline in my haven. 

“ _Jacqui, Jacqui_ , Jacqui,” a man’s growling voice says over the speakers.  A shiver darts up my spine and I struggle to maintain my upright position.  My eyes dart to the dismantled suit lying on the table before me and I thank any gods who may be watching that I dismantled the tiny remote device I found tucked away in its chest plate. 

I don’t need this bastard watching me…

“ _You’ve been bad, dear-heart.  So very, very_ bad!” the voice continues and I watch JARVIS start stripping the vocal wavelengths in hopes of identifying who exactly is calling.  “ _Why’d you have to break my toy, princess, hm?  That wasn’t very_ nice _of you._ ” 

“Yeah?” I say, my voice even, light, despite the terror washing through my mind.  “Shouldn’t send your toys against a pro, Stane.  Not if you want them to survive.” 

I take a slow, halting step towards the computers and watch the trace swirl haphazardly around downtown LA. 

JARVIS is struggling to trace the call.

Which could mean several things. 

The most likely, of course, being…

“Whatcha flying in Stane?  Bi-plane?” I snap and my fingers dance over the screens, tightening the parameters JARVIS is using to track my tormentor.  “Little windy today, isn’t it?”

“ _Stop trying to find me Jacqui,_ ” the voice says, that gravelly growl so much more ridiculous than Zeke Stane’s simper.  “ _I’m not ready for you to find me yet.  I’m just calling to make sure you’re still playing, that you haven’t given up.  I don’t want you to quit on me Jacqui.  That wouldn’t be_ fair _to dear old Dad, now would it?_ ”

“Yeah, not quitting you bastard.  Just taking a breather,” I mutter as JARVIS finally gets his ass in line and locks down on the key parameters of the voice speaking to me.

It’s not what I was expecting. 

But probably what I _should_ have expected. 

“ _Gave you quite the show didn’t I Jacqui?  Tell me,_ ” there’s a smarmy chuckle and my eyes close in horror at the sick glee coming over my speakers.  “ _What was it like watching sweet Christine die?  Did it make you_ sad _?_ ”

“Nah,” I snarl as I enlarge the image JARVIS has found for me and pace away towards the busted Iron Monger suit.  “I didn’t really care that much.  She used to fuck my Dad, you know.  Always thought she was a bit of a skank.” 

 _I’m sorry,_ I think as I grab the quarter-sized remote device resting beside the suit and raise it before my eyes.  _I don’t mean any of this Christine.  Please forgive me._

“I’m glad you killed her, saved me the trouble Stane,” I continue as I carry the remote back to the desk, the wires trailing between my fingers.  “I used to watch Dad flirt with her when I was a kid, you know, used to watch them dance at galas.  She was a whore.  She didn’t matter.” 

The voice at the other end of the line is quiet for a moment and my lips lift in a cold sneer. 

“What? Did I shock you big guy?  You should know better than that.  I don’t have a soul anymore, remember?  You took care of that for me the first time we met.” 

My good hand is too tight around the remote; idly I notice it cutting into the palm of my hand but I don’t even care.

I’m staring at the face JARVIS has provided for my special viewing and to say I’m annoyed is an understatement.

“ _Well, well.  Little Jacqui is not as angelic as her family would have the world think, is she?_ ”  A chuckle and then, “ _I hope, dear girl, you realize your time is running out.  I do not know what you are doing in your mountainside mansion, but I_ do _hope it is nothing to do with your father’s suit.  That would be most…_ unfortunate _for you parents.”_

I smile, a cold sneer, and begin dismantling the remote device.  “Yeah, well,” I mutter half to myself and half to the bastard on the phone.  “We both know anything I do is going to be ‘unfortunate’ for Tony and Pepper.  Take your game somewhere else.” 

A pause and I realize this is it. 

This is when I find out _why_ this is happening to my family. 

I glance up quickly as my caller begins to set his demands and I make sure JARVIS is still recording the call.

He is.

“ _I know what you are doing Jacqui.  You are in your Daddy’s workshop trying to determine how the Iron Monger worked from a remote distance.  Stop.  I do not like the thought of your fingers in my tech-“_

“Dad’s tech,” I snap, my jaw tight and my back ram-rod straight.  “You’re as delusional as Zeke, whoever you are.” 

A dangerous pause and then that sickening chuckle.

“ _You are too stubborn Stark,_ ” the voice snarls and I wince.  “ _No matter.  You won’t be for long.”_

I sigh, completely fed up with this farce and snap, “What do you _need_ Stane?  Huh?  Why are you doing this to Tony and Pepper?  You could have finished this with me years ago.  Why are you taking this out on my parents?”

Soft laughter ripples over the speakers and the bastard whispers, “ _I never wanted to_ finish _this with you dear._ You _were never the one I wanted.  You’re just a bit player, a minor pawn in this battle.  I always wanted, no_ needed, _Tony.  Why, you ask?  Because I want the mystery arc reactor Stark.  I want the arc reactor your father has been constructing in secret for three years.  The arc he’s refusing this very moment to tell me about.  So you’re going to have to get it for me.  If you want Tony to keep on breathing._ ”

“ _What_?!  What the fuck are you talking about Stane?”  I gasp, shocked.  My eyes dart around the workshop, already cataloguing the arc reactors I have found while working.  There has been nothing even remotely mysterious about any of them.

Mom’s golden arc, with the finely tuned vibranium set just for her heart.

Dad’s super charged sky blue arc, set to run his heart for another century and a half.

And Rhodey’s powerful, but not nearly as powerful as my parent’s, nestled in a little box marked with War Machine’s call sign.

That’s it…

My eyes settle on a blood encrusted arc reactor sitting abandoned on the work table beside the Iron Monger’s corpse and I have to stifle a groan.

 _Prototype,_ JARVIS’s initial report said, the report he presented to me the moment I arrived in the workshop.  _Un-usable.  Constructed within Stark Resilient laboratories by Employee #6284._

There is one arc reactor in this workshop not like the others.

And if this is a failed prototype then…

_Stane wants Dad’s because he can’t figure out his own design._

“There isn’t a mystery arc,” I mutter and I’m sagged against the desk, still processing what my parents’ kidnapper has demanded, what’s sitting in the lab this very moment, bloody and broken.  “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.  Dad wasn’t working-he hasn’t made a new arc in _years-_ “

“ _Ah but he has dear girl.  He’s been working on a specialized arc designed_ especially _for a heart not suited to arc technology.  He made an arc-“_

“For me,” I whisper and I’m on the floor now, far beyond shocked.  I’m terrified.  “He made an arc reactor for me.”

“ _Bingo_ ,” the voice purrs and my blood runs cold at the glee in his voice.  “ _Knew you’d get it Stark.  Good job._ ” 

“But why?” I whisper, still processing this new thing revealed about my father.  _I was locked away, for_ life _, why would he make a suit and an arc, just for me?  Why do_ you _want this tech?_

My thoughts are scattered and I’m cold. 

Cold and shaking to pieces.

I don’t like the thought of my father pining away in his workshop for five years, building his criminal daughter a suit and a new heart.

He was never supposed to pine away.

He and Mom were supposed to live happily ever after, without a psychotic bitch of a daughter to worry about.

And I really don’t like the thought of one of my family’s enemies knowing just what Dad was up to.  That smacks of insider knowledge.

Someone close to Dad has been snooping into what he’s been doing the past few years.

He wasn’t…

“Why do you want it?” I snarl and I’m furious now.  Far beyond sanity.  “ _Stane!_ Why do you want the arc?!”

A soft tsking noise and then, “ _Don’t ask questions you don’t really want answered dear.  You might discover something you don’t want to know.  Do you understand what I am asking for?  Do you understand why I have Tony here with me?  Why I’m making them_ bleed _?”_

My skin is shuddering out of my control; I imagine I can feel the bastard’s fingers trailing over my flesh, over my still bruised body, to grip my throat.

“Yes,” I whisper, my eyes closed and my body crumpled in on itself.  I feel as if I’m dying.  As if, he’s sucking my soul away.  _You were never supposed to miss me, Dad,_ I think as my fingers claw against the cement, as I strive to anchor myself.  _You were supposed to be Tony and Pepper, heroes.  You weren’t supposed to…love me anymore._   “I understand.  Where should I meet you with the arc?  I know where it is.” 

“ _Your computer will know.  Bring the arc to me in ten hours.  And then I will give you back your parents._ ”

 _No you won’t_ , I think, my head bowed and my skin still shuddering.  _This was never a game of survival.  They’ll be dead when I find them…_

“Sounds good.  Can’t wait to meet you Stane.  Wait!”  I glance up at the screen with that face I never wanted to see again.  “You swear you’ll set them free when I get you the arc?  Undamaged?”

I remember the last time I bargained with a Stane. 

I remember the feel of Sam’s body in my arms.

The way my pirated arc burned and flickered in the darkness of an abandoned warehouse.

I remember it all. 

“ _Of course dearest.  Of course,_ ” Stane breathes and I know he’s lying.  I know this was never a game I could win. 

He’s playing his game still.

He doesn’t know I’ve been playing my own. 

“Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes closed, and a small smile on my lips as I begin planning. 

Continue planning. 

“See you in ten hours Stane,” I mutter as I rise with difficulty. 

I’m exhausted.  But there’s no time to sleep.  There’s never been time to sleep.

“ _Don’t fail me Jacqui,_ ” the voice whispers as I head towards my work table.  “ _Because…”_

My fingers lock around the smooth edges of the arc reactor I was sent, the gambit, the _pawn_ , and my teeth grind together in a silent snarl. 

“ _Because, if you fail me, you fail Mommy and Daddy, Jacqui.  Can’t have another Sam now, can we?_ ” 

The line goes dead and I raise Stark Resilient Employee #6284’s failed tech before my eyes. 

“No, we really can’t,” I whisper to a madman’s heart. 

Then I grab the remote device from the Iron Monger’s suit and a pair of safety goggles. 

“JARVIS,” I snap as I slip the goggles on and start separating the wires spilling free of my fingers, “you know what I need, right buddy?”

“Of course Miss Stark,” he says and a moment later one of my favorite pop punk bands from my teenaged years begins to play over the speakers and the screens light up with the background information of Employee #6284. 

“Hello ‘Stane,’” I say to the familiar face hanging before me.  “You’ve been playing the wrong game.” 

I fall silent and lower my gaze to the tech I’m intent on hacking and repairing.

“You wanted a ‘mystery’ arc reactor,” I grumble halfway through the dismantling of the silver arc.  “So I’ll give you one.  Because in all honesty it’s a mystery how you ever thought _this_ piece of shit would work.  You’re obviously not a physicist or engineer Clarence.” 

The image of Clarence Pickers, very young supposed paparazzi from the Golden Sun, provides no clarification as to how he managed building an arc reactor on his own in the bowels of my father’s company.

But then…

I will never expect him to.

Pawns, after all, really have no say in their placement of the game. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candybar creep show  
> My highs hit a new low  
> Marinate in misery~Bones

When I turned fourteen my parents separated. 

They told the press it was because of the company of course; my mother had been working for years on getting a branch of Stark Resilient started once more in Tokyo and the stress of splitting her time between the LA offices and the New York headquarters was becoming too much for her. 

What they didn’t tell the press was they’d separated because my father refused to stop being a hero. 

Mom could never let go of Stark Resilient.

Dad could never let go of Iron Man.

I would remember their fights for years; remember the hateful words tossed across the living room like throwing knives while I hid in my bedroom or on the house’s roof, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of my life falling apart around my ears. 

There was one night, right near the end, before Mom yanked me from school and dragged me to New York without asking my permission, where their words started getting a little personal. 

Words like, _You’ve shed more blood than any for this Tony!  It’s time you sacrifice for something more important!_

And, _I suppose the most important thing is the company, right Pepper?  We all know that’s more important than our damn daughter! You didn’t even call her last week when she won that award!_

Then there was, _Don’t you dare drag Jacqueline into this!  She’s just a convenient excuse for you Tony!  The only reason you let her live here is because you can take her into the workshop with you and she won’t see it as anything but quality time with you!_

That one hurt the most. 

I still remember Mom screaming in Dad’s face, her finger poking into the glass face of his arc reactor as she snarled my name. 

The worst thing was…

Dad never denied it. 

That fight took place the night after my birthday; the fight _on_ my birthday had started because Dad had forgotten to pick Sam and me up from our schools while Mom got the cake. 

Danielle Cage had picked us up instead, almost an hour after we were supposed to be and I’d known immediately that tonight was _not_ going to go well. 

 _Happy Birthday Jack,_ she’d said as she handed me my present before ushering us into the back seat of her ancient Jetta; she’d given me a pretty necklace of five silver birds in flight. 

Her eyes had been shadowed, concerned, in the rearview mirror but neither Sam nor I had had the strength to ask what had happened.  We’d known we’d most likely be hearing about it the moment we walked through the doors of my house.

I’d thanked her and Sam had clasped the necklace for me where it sat at my collar bones for the rest of my teen years.

It served as a reminder of a better part of my life, right before it went to hell.

“Hey Jack.” 

I was sitting on the roof of the Malibu house the night of my disastrous birthday party and I was still wearing my silver and blue dress when Dad found me. 

I’d taken the heels off though.

My fingers were nervously twisting in the necklace Danielle had given me; I suppose that was the start of my most defining nervous tick, my fingers tapping away at my collar bones whenever something dangerous or nerve-wracking occurred. 

I didn’t realize until later it mirrored my father’s own nervous fluttering of fingers on his bright blue arc reactor.

“Are you and Mom going to get a divorce?” I whispered when he sprawled in the canvas porch chair next to mine that night; his arc reactor shone like a star through the front of his dress shirt and not for the first time in my fourteen years, I wished I had one.

I wished I was special enough to have a glowing heart and a suit to match.

Maybe if I was a hero I could fix my parents… 

He didn’t respond right away, simply folded his arms behind his head and sighed.  “Do you know what I did the first time I put on the suit Jack?” he asked finally and I frowned at the unusual question.

He glanced at me with a smirk and turned his gaze skyward.

“I ran some test flights, of course, but the second thing I did was land on your Mom’s balcony.”  He chuckled when all I did was gape at him, completely shocked at this confession of Tony Stark’s.  His finger stabbed in my direction as he said sharply, “She still doesn’t know about this, okay kid?  You can’t tell her.  She’d have my balls and then she’d ground you, got it?”

I nodded, still speechless and he sighed before lowering his finger.  “I don’t know why I did it but everything with the suit just freaked me out those days.  I had to tell somebody and I wasn’t sure I could trust _anyone_.  Your Mom…well…she was special.  _Is_ special.” 

He sighed again and ran his hand over his jaw for a moment before laughing once more.  “I landed on her balcony all ready to throw her French doors open dramatically and declare ‘Lois, I’m here to save the day!’ when the suit glitched and I ended up frozen for a good ten minutes, with my hand suspended in front of me and my back all hunched in this uncomfortable position, while a cat I hadn’t noticed appeared out of nowhere and began using my leg as a scratch post.”

I snickered at the imagery and he glanced at me with his smirk still in place.

I didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes.

“Your Mom’s a cat person, did you know that Jack?” he asked after a moment and I shook my head.  “Yeah,” he sighed.  “She had this ginger colored furball named Chewie back in those days.  We actually had him at our first house, the one in Seattle, where you were born, for a while.  She loved that cat.” 

He fell silent and I watched the play of light on his face for a moment before asking, “What happened to him?”

I had almost forgotten the fight that had broken up my birthday party just an hour before.

Had almost forgotten my mother slapping him and calling him a narcissistic bastard before storming out of the house to go God knows where.

The company, most likely. 

Dad glanced at me and shrugged, “Carol took him for your Mom, favors and all that.  You ended up being allergic to him. Poor thing, you’d sneeze every time he came near your crib and then if he brushed up against you, your eyes would swell and your poor little nose would start to run.”  He chuckled and I don’t think he noticed my shoulders slumping in disappointment.  “You were so pathetically cute Jack; all you wanted to do was pet the big tiger kitty but you couldn’t because you’d turn into a strawberry.” 

I was quiet, just staring out at the Pacific, my hands wrapped tight around my knees while tears began to trickle down my cheeks. 

Dad noticed those. 

“Oh shit.  Jack, I’m sorry!” he muttered as he shifted to my chair and dragged me into his arms.  I stifled a sob as his arms wrapped around my body and he tucked me against his chest and the warm reactor.  “Come on kiddo, don’t cry.  I’m being an ass…”

I shook my head and tangled my fingers in his shirt.  “I’m s-s-sorry Daddy!” I wailed into the arc reactor.  “I’m s-s-sorry I’ve me-heh-ssed your lives u-up!” 

His wide, callused and scarred, hands ran over my back and he chuckled as I shuddered with the force of my sobs.  “Hey, shh Jack, shh.  Stop that right now. You haven’t messed anything up-“

“But you and Mom are getting a divorce because of m-e-e!” I wailed, absolutely inconsolable at this point. 

He sighed.  “We’re not getting a divorce Jack,” he muttered against my hair.  “We’re just-we’re just taking a breather, okay?”  He lifted my chin when I continued sobbing and smiled before smoothing my tears away with his thumbs.  “And it’s not because of _you_ Jack.  Don’t ever think that, okay?  You’re our baby and we love you.  Will _always_ love you.  Okay?” 

I was far beyond words at that point so he let me cry myself out; he kept his arms wrapped tight around me and despite it being late December and a bit chilly, I had never been so warm. 

He just talked while I sniffled and snotted on his shirt.

Talked about me as a baby, of him and Pepper as new parents, of the superheroes downstairs coming to their rescue when the world wouldn’t wait for diaper changes.

_You had colic once and Steve had to walk you up and down the stairs of the Avengers Tower for three hours straight to help you fall asleep.  He was the only one who could do it because apparently he had colic all the time as a baby._

_Did he do it in his uniform Dad?_

_Yeah, baby, we’d just gotten back from a mission and I was in medical and your Mom was getting fitted for a new arc.  He was the only one besides Peter in the Tower…_

It would have been touching…

If the next night’s fight hadn’t happened. 

“Did you mean it Dad?” I asked from the workshop’s doorway the next night.  It was late, very late, and he was drinking.

I’d never seen him drink before.

Or at least not…like _this._

Three empty whiskey bottles tipped and tottered over his desk and he was sloshed in a pile under the bowels of a War Machine prototype. 

I don’t think he could even see straight at that point. 

“Mean what Jack?” he asked and I couldn’t help being impressed with the lack of slurring in his speech. 

He did have trouble tracking me though.

His eyes were more red than blue at that point. 

I turned my eyes away from him and stroked my fingers along Dum-E’s armature, taking comfort from the cold metal that would never use me in battle against my mother. 

“Mom said you’ve been using me, Dad,” I muttered quietly, tears once more pricking my eyes.  “She said the only reason you let me sit with you in the workshop was because I thought it would be quality time with you.  When really…”  I swallowed and raised my eyes to his.  “When really it was so you could just work on your suits without interruption.” 

He was staring at me, shocked and drunk and he slurred, “You heard that Jacqui?”

Again, he didn’t deny.

And he didn’t defend. 

“How could I not, Dad?” I said through clenched jaws.  “You were _screaming_ at Mom.  And she was _pushing_ you!”

He sighed and buried his face in his hands.  “I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry.  I’ve messed up.  I thought I was doing the right thing,” he groaned miserably.

I didn’t move to comfort him. 

I don’t think I could. 

Dum-E was holding me up, his claw tangled in my nightshirt, his gears whirring in concern as he sensed his masters’ agony.  Neither of us had the strength to reassure him that everything would be fine. 

Because neither of us knew if it would be. 

“Mom’s taking me away Dad,” I whispered after a moment, my tear-stained cheek resting on the bot’s arm.  “She-she doesn’t think you can take care of me.  She’s moving me to New York so she can be home with me.” 

He did nothing but stare blearily in my direction and I couldn’t help wondering if he had even processed what I had told him. 

“Did you hear me Daddy?” I shouted, suddenly furious and I straightened from my slouched position in the middle of his workshop to face him with clenched fists and blazing eyes.  “Did you hear what she’s going to _do_ to me?  She’s taking me away from my school, from _Sam_ and I have to live in fucking New York with her!  She’s not even going to be around!  She’s going to be at the _company_ , not with me!” 

He just shook his head and sagged to the ground, his face buried in his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered to the cement floor.

That’s when I knew.

I knew surrendering comes in many forms. 

“I don’t want to live with her,” I whispered as I headed for the door.  “I don’t want Mom to take me away with her Dad.”  I hesitated, my hand resting on the cool glass for a moment and I glanced back to where he lay staring at me, his body reeking of booze and tears.  He stretched out his hand and I shivered at the vague hope I saw in his eyes.

“But I don’t think I want to live with you either Daddy,” I whispered and then I was gone, leaving him to sober up or drown in another bottle and by the time morning broke on Malibu, I was in New York. 

Fighting with my mother.

And longing to be home, safe with my father.

I know it seems cliché, but things were never the same after my fourteenth birthday.  I saw my father surrender me to my mother and I saw my mother surrender her marriage for the company. 

They may have gone back to each other in the end…

But I never forgot and I don’t think I ever really forgave. 

And I never really trusted either one again.

**

“JARVIS when I come back from this farce, I want the vibranium rendered and prepped,” I say a few hours after my construction of Stane’s “mystery arc.”  I’ve come upstairs to get some dinner and to let Steve or Carol know that I am indeed still functioning. 

Even if I’m so exhausted it feels like I’m dying all over again. 

I shrug out of the sling with a sigh and tentatively stretch my arm straight, absently noting the grind and roll of my shoulder and sighing when the bone stays intact. 

I stretch my arms carefully over my head, listening to the vertebrae in my back pop and crackle and I mutter, “While you’re at it J, let’s get the Bluebird and that War Machine prototype out on the grid; give each a once over and then dismantle them.  I need to get going on that.  I want a full line-up of the work Dad still needed to do on my suit.  And I need Rhodey’s for a blueprint.  Got it big guy?”

JARVIS gives his affirmative but I don’t pay any more attention to my Dad’s computer.  Nor do I focus on what Icarus is doing at my back.  

I’ve moved to the corner facing my half of the balcony and stopped at the sight of shining silver necklace sitting on the surface of my vanity. It’s a necklace I haven’t worn for nearly ten years.  I didn’t even know they’d kept it. 

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. 

The surface of my wrought iron and glass vanity is more of a shrine at this point than an actual piece of furniture; I wonder, briefly, which one of my parents arranged my childhood treasures like this. 

There’s the Captain America action figure Bucky Barnes got me for my second birthday sitting beside a raggedy teddy bear with purple pants.  The earrings from India Bruce Banner brought home after one of his more difficult sessions with the Hulk sparkle in the bit of sari they came wrapped in.  A statue of Artemis Kate Bishop found at an antique store and gave to me for Christmas one year is tucked in the shadows of the mirror next to a miniature bow and arrow Clint made for me out of toothpicks and rubber bands when I ended up in the hospital after breaking my leg for the first time. 

And then there’s Danielle’s necklace.

The birds are tarnished now, from extensive wear and then from sitting in the damp air of countless California winters.  My fingers play over their spread wings idly and I try to ignore the picture frame they’re resting on. 

But in the end, I can’t. 

I sigh and lift frame and necklace into my hand before carrying them to my bed.  I sag onto the mattress, absently tucking my feet beneath me and I lean back against the plump pillows; there’s no sign that I lay in this room, broken to pieces, the past few nights (two, JARVIS told me while I worked.  I was out for two days and two nights.  _I’m sorry Mom and Dad…_ ).

My thumb runs over the frame and I tuck the necklace into my hand before turning my gaze to the photo-paper hidden behind the glass.

It’s the picture from my fourteenth birthday, right before everything went to shit. 

Little Jacqueline Stark is sitting at the piano, her straight raven-black hair shining down her back, and she’s wearing the dress she begged her mother’s assistant to get for her. 

She’d wanted to look pretty for Sam. 

He and I had only just started dating, after getting permission from our fathers, and I’d wanted to be perfect for the boy I loved. 

Thought I loved.

_Loved._

Sam is sitting beside me, his fingers curved on the ivory keys, and I can almost remember what it felt like to feel his body curving along mine through the sky-blue silk of my dress. 

We used to fit so well together, even when we were furious with each other.

Especially when we were furious with each other.

But we weren’t furious that night; we probably wouldn’t have even known what to do with ourselves if we had been. 

My lips twitch at the thought and my fingers run idly over the comforter of my bed as my mind drifts back to some of the wilder fights we’d had in the days leading up to our wedding. 

We’d had the house to ourselves at that point; mostly because Dad had gotten tired of listening to us “argue.” 

And stumbling upon the aftermath…

Fourteen and sixteen year old Jacqui and Sam wouldn’t have understood that sometimes you have to fight to show how much you love someone. 

Sometimes fighting for the person you love is better than surrendering to them. 

We understood that perfectly by the time we slid our gold bands on each other’s fingers. 

In the picture I’m holding, he’s laughing and singing “Happy Birthday” to me, obnoxiously, judging by his bright eyes, and I’m laughing, arms draped around his neck, my face snug against his shoulder.

Rhodey and Dad are leaning on the piano, flutes of champagne in hand while Steve tries to yank a cigar from Logan’s mouth and Sharon laughs into his chest.  Bruce came with Jennifer that night and they stand beside Carol, Jess tight at her side, just behind the scowling Wolverine.  The Cage’s are arrayed behind us, noisemakers in their hands and a giant piece of cake in Luke’s mouth. 

There are others.

Peter and his kids, M.J. at his side, her red hair shining in the warm light of the Malibu house stand beside the Cage family and Danny.  Bucky and Natasha stand in the shadows, their hands barely touching.  Some of Xavier’s crowd chat with one or two of the Young Avengers on the couches.  Reed’s arguing with Johnny.  Sue’s head is resting on his shoulder and she’s smiling into the camera. 

It’s all so normal, so _human_ of them. 

And I can remember it so clearly.

While our parents’ may not always have gotten along (and after the War how could they?  There are some things you can never come back from…) they always tried their hardest to provide us kids with some normalcy. 

Danielle had been the first of the “superhero” babies; she was ten years older than me and Dad always joked she turned out to be the guinea pig for our giant, angry, clan. 

I can’t help wondering what she’s doing now…

I should look her up.

When this whole nightmare is done.

My lips twitch as my eyes continue gazing hungrily at my haphazard family and I remember the exasperation in my mother’s voice as she tried to wrangle us for a group shot. 

Group shots had never really been their things though. 

This photo is just what they are.

Loud, disorganized and ultimately so painfully normal they’re abnormal. 

“If that makes sense,” I murmur to their dusty faces, my eyes suddenly heavy as my body eases into the soft pillows I’ve been leaning against. 

I’ve been in the workshop for six hours, doing nothing but making a dummy arc reactor and the lack of sleep has finally begun to catch up with me.

“I’ll just close my eyes,” I whisper to my empty room and the bot sitting at the side of my bed, his claw extended and full of discarded shirts and shoes.  “J, keep-keep an eye on…”

**

“Jack, Jacqui, you need to wake up.”

Rhodey’s gentle voice snaps me out of my dreamless sleep almost immediately and I sit up so fast the picture frame in my lap tumbles towards the ground.

“Shit,” I breathe as my fingers scrabble for that last bit of my childhood but I miss. 

Luckily, Icarus does not.

“Thank you Icky,” I whisper as he sets it gently in my hand.  I smile and stroke his claw before setting the frame and the necklace I held during my impromtu nap on my bedside table.  Then I turn to face my father’s best friend. 

He’s standing at the foot of my bed, his arms folded and his eyes are nothing but shadows. 

Night has once more come to Malibu. 

My parents have been missing for four days.

And what do I have to show for it?

Some more scars.

A dead reporter.

A devious arc reactor not of my design.

And maybe a suit that may actually work.

If I survive tonight.

“What are you doing Rhodey?” I ask, my voice rough with sleep and I try to ignore the base panic I’m starting to feel at the thought of once more going into the fray.

He sighs.

“You were going to go lone-ranger weren’t you Stark?” he snaps and I freeze in the process of sliding out of bed.

“What?” I gasp, my eyes wide and my breath frozen in my chest.  “What do you mean?”

And that’s when I see what he’s holding.

The case. 

The case with a madman’s heart nestled and lit within.  

“Don’t play games with me Jack,” he says and his voice is so disappointed I can feel my cheeks warm in response.  “Don’t do that with me.  Not again,” he continues as he tosses the metal case onto my bed.  I wince as it bounces just slightly and open my mouth to defend myself but his hand flashes up and my words die on my tongue.  “No, just stop Jack.  I know you too well, you’re just like Tony when it comes to things like this.  And you’ve been gone for years.  I have more control over JARVIS than you do at this point.”

I would laugh at that…

If it didn’t make a certain kind of sense.

“I’m sorry Rhodey, I-“ I start to say as I finally manage to rise off the bed but he sighs.

“You think you have to do this by yourself Jacqueline,” he says as he moves towards my blank windows, his hands shoved in his pockets.  “You’ve lost too many people and you think it’s your fault so you’re going to make sure no one else gets in the way, right?” 

He shoots a dark glance over his shoulder to where I stand, my hand on the case and Icarus’s claw hooked through my leg. 

I hesitate.

And then nod.

He sighs again and leans against the windows facing my balcony and the ocean. 

“You’re just like Tony, Jack.  Just as bull-headed and far too smart for your own good,” he mutters and I can almost taste the pain his words cause him.  I can’t help feeling a bit insulted.  “You need to realize you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

He doesn’t look at me and his voice is so soft I almost miss his last words. 

My gaze lowers to the case and I sigh as my fingers run along the ridges of the steel.  It’s so quiet in my room, so still and I know I’m running out of time. 

I have a madman to play with.

But I also have a family to reacquaint myself with. 

“Rhodey,” I say, and I struggle to keep my voice firm, calm.  I struggle to be strong.  “I am not my father.  I am not-I’m not Iron Man, Rhodes.  I am not your best friend and I am not an Avenger.  I’m Jacqueline Stark.  Don’t project Tony on me.” 

I don’t wait for him to reply.

I don’t wait for _him_.

I take my case and the heart and I leave him behind. 

The house is dark and I realize Rhodey is the only one left; the others are out searching or just plain living their lives. 

I’m left to fight my battle on my own.

“Good,” I whisper to myself as I lace my boots on the stairs leading to the workshop.  _No more death_ …

Rhodey hasn’t followed me. 

And I’m home free.

“Miss Stark, the address is 56 Pacific Ridge,” JARVIS murmurs as I slide into the seat of the stoic black Acura sedan sitting in the shadows of the garage.  “Shall I inform-“

“No,” I snap as he starts the car for me and presents the GPS route for my use.  “Don’t tell anyone where I’m going J and if I catch wind of you revealing any of my doings I’ll dismantle you and rig a new system, do you hear me you archaic piece of Stark ego?” 

He’s quiet for a moment but as I pull out of the garage he sighs.

“Of course Miss Stark,” he murmurs.  “Anything for you.”

I don’t notice the tracker he’s placed on the car.

And I don’t notice the red Dodge Charger’s headlights in my rearview mirror.

I’ve got more important things to worry about than who may be watching me. 

I’m too focused on the games I’m balancing for my parent’s lives.

And Rhodey’s words.

_You have to realize you don’t have to be alone anymore…_

They’re so ridiculous…

Because none of them have ever truly been alone, have they?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've been working on this chapter for a while. 
> 
> I'm still not happy with it, but it's just a transitory addition to the story. 
> 
> I'm sorry for that. 
> 
> I'll get back to the meat and grit soon, I swear!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breathe in the light  
> I’ll stay here in the shadow  
> Waiting for a sign, as the time grows  
> Higher, and higher, and higher  
> And when the nights alarm  
> All those stars recall your goodbye, your goodbye~M83 "Oblivion"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally do this...
> 
> You all should listen to Oblivion by M83 while reading this.
> 
> It was all I listened to while writing this chapter and you know, I kind of channeled it, so! Yay
> 
> But that's just an author's mental deficiency so feel free to ignore and proceed. 
> 
> On a more serious note: Major trigger warnings ahead. Lots of almost dying is going to happen to Jack now. Please, please proceed with caution. 
> 
> I swear to you, I will one day let her have a happy (ish?) ending and won't be constantly almost killing her. But that's not this chapter, or even the next one. 
> 
> Sorry. 
> 
> Love, as ever, to all.

The place Stane’s sent me to is a pot den.

“How appropriate,” I grumble under my breath as I pull the deep hood of my jacket up to cover my face.  I don’t want to be seen entering this dump by anyone who may be following or who may be just passing by.

Newly emerged heiress and all that. 

We all have our appearances to keep up and mine is balancing on the edge of a knife.  I can’t imagine what the media has had to say about the “accident” outside of my parent’s company.

About Christine’s death.

About my parent’s continued absence.

I’ve kept the TV’s silent, after JARVIS informed me Rhodey’s take over as President went smoothly and that the stocks only dipped a bit.  It’s positive, all things considering, and I know SHIELD and my family has done a good job covering up what really happened on that secluded strip of street last night.

What really happened in the boardroom.

Briefly, I wonder what Kincaid is doing, if he’s scheming or if he’s drinking his woes away.

I wonder when I’ll be getting a threatening phone call from the man, telling me he’ll have the company back in his hand if it is the last thing he does.

Maybe I should make sure it _is_ the last thing he does…

But I can’t worry about that now. 

I can’t… _think_ about any of it anymore.

I just want to get this stupid drop off done and I want to see Clarence’s face one more time. 

I want to add another tally to my list.

“JARVIS?” I murmur as I begin climbing the crumbling cement stairs of the ramshackle townhouse I’ve been led to.  To say this place is a house is really too kind.

This is a shack.

I suppose it used to be a historical brownstone; the shattered stained glass windows facing the street call to mind an era Steve would have been comfortable in.  I trail my fingers over the bent and battered wrought iron railings bounding the front steps and I find myself wishing I could have seen this house in its golden years.

When a madman wasn’t using it as a base.

“Please tell me you’re here, J,” I whisper as my boots crunch in glass and hypodermic needles left over from by-gone addicts.  I can’t help being thankful for the knee-high leather boots I’m wearing and the driving gloves I pulled on as an after-thought. 

I don’t fancy falling in this shit and contracting hep or HIV. 

That would be the ultimate irony.

There’s a crackle in my ear and then, “ _Never fear Miss Stark.  I am here with you._ ”

My sigh of relief is lost in the creak and groan of the sagging front porch I’m walking across and I whisper as I scan my surroundings for danger, “You’re online then?  You can see the building?”

“ _Yes Miss Stark.  Your design, I daresay, was a success.”_

The Stark phone I’ve hacked is sitting on the passenger seat of my car, parked in a nondescript parking lot where none can find it.  The ear piece tucked in my ear is one of Dad’s design I’ve put my own personal spin on.

Undetectable tech I designed on the fly during a coffee break this afternoon.

Both are proof that I may be alone physically, but mentally I’ve got a house of knowledge at my disposal.

I’m already working on improving each piece.

“How many within J?” I ask when I nudge the heavy front door open with the toe of my boot; it swings free on screaming hinges and my teeth grit in agony as the sound pierces my ears.

There’s no one around to hear it; every window facing the street is blank, dark, empty.  And the streets are devoid of life. 

I’m alone.

My fingers are tight on the case and I can’t help thinking that as long as I maintain my grip on this little trick of mine, I’m at a disadvantage.  I wish suddenly, that I had a suit on my limbs, an arc in my chest. 

A better system for JARVIS to work under. 

I’m wishing for armor.

For safety.

Everything is going so fast-I’ve barely had time to process the hour long drive from Malibu to Venice, the ten minute walk from the beach to this slum and the thirty second walk up the steps to what is most likely the biggest trap in the history of cons.

I don’t let myself think that this may be it.

That I may actually be getting my parents back tonight.

I don’t _think_.

“ _One, Miss Stark.  On the third floor I believe,_ ” my voice of reason says in my ear and I can almost hear the worry in his voice. 

The overprotectiveness of my father’s computer has increased drastically.

I wonder when he alerted the family of my whereabouts.

I wonder how long I have before they come to yank me back into the light.

“Thanks J, keep me posted,” I say as I cast my eyes around the entryway, absently checking for booby traps or baddies in masks. 

There’s nothing. 

At least on this level.

My boots make no noise on the cracked mosaic entryway as I pass the main stairwell and move towards the back of the shack.  Everywhere in this skeleton of a house there are the signs of decay; graffiti, drug paraphernalia, rotten Playboys and used condoms litter the floors and walls.  Broken furniture tumbles through doorways, down the half burnt stairs curving up into the upper levels of the house.  Rotten curtains drift in shattered windows and mattresses with their guts spilling free rot in the corners of the pit-dark rooms.

No room has been left untouched.

My fingers leave dusty trails on the chair-rail of the walls and my boots leave prints in the grime. 

This was once a lovely neighborhood, I suddenly remember. 

Sam’s mother, Suzanne, would bring us to the beach on our days off and we would walk through Venice together, all three of us as happy as could be.  She’d buy us ice-cream from the shop the next block over and let us run around in the park nearby. 

That was before she found out she had cancer though.

Before Dad removed the Cybermancer virus from her cells.  Before she lost all of her stunning black hair and began wasting away in a hospital bed.   

I still remember Sam crying in my Dad’s arms at the hospital the night she finally passed.  Rhodey hadn’t even come out to tell him; he’d stayed by Suzi’s side while my Dad had gone to let us and the rest of the family know.  I’d been asleep in Bruce Banner’s arms, snug under his chin while Sam had been huddled at our side, Steve’s arm around his shoulders. 

We had been so little and our parents had tried so hard to keep death from affecting us. 

Stupid of them really…

I sigh and ease through the parlor, the case I’m holding suddenly weighing too much for my still shaky left arm and I stop for a moment.

“J, do you have any information on who’s upst-“ I start to say but at the sound of glass crunching behind me, I spin quickly in the middle of what used to be a kitchen, thoroughly expecting Stane or one of his goons to have snuck up on me.

There’s nothing there though. 

Except for JARVIS saying, “ _Negative Miss Stark.  The dist-ag-Stark-en…_ ”

My earpiece is crackling, all static and I wince.  “J, come on, patch through,” I mutter, my finger tight in my ear and that’s when I hear the footstep behind me once more.  The crunch of glass under foot and the sigh of fingers on peeling plaster.

And a chuckle. 

“So, the little bird is flying solo then?” a voice says and I still, my skin bumping and crawling at the dark humor I hear in this dank house.  But I don’t turn, I don’t _think_.

I smile.

“I always did like spreading my wings and flying from the coop, Clarence Pickers,” I say cheerfully through gritted teeth.  My ears are tuned to the man breathing behind me and I wonder how long I have before a knife slides through my ribs.

How long I have before this all goes to shit.

Not enough time to come up with an escape plan, most likely.   
  
“Did you bring the device I asked for Stark?” he asks and I sigh.  Always to the point.  What happened to the good old fashioned monologue Dad would tell me about while Mom bandaged him up in the old days?

What happened to the blustering and the _I’ve won now and you’re finally going to see how genius I truly am Stark!  The world will know that I_ [insert insipid villain name here] _am the supreme master of all blah blah blah…_

“What do you think, ass?” I mutter as I raise the case.  I don’t get much further.

Clarence is smart enough to shove his gun up against the base of my skull.  “Easy,” he mutters, his breath smelling like corned beef and kraut.  “ _Easy_ Stark, no funny business now.” 

I would laugh at that. 

But he might get the wrong idea.

“How’d you do it Clarice?” I whisper as his fingers run down my arm to grip the case’s handle.  I let him take it.  “How’d you get by my Dad?  Get into his company?  Hmm? You’re not smart enough to do that by yours-“

“ _Shut up Stark_ ,” he hisses, cutting off my taunt and suddenly I’m no longer standing, I’m on the filthy floor, my head ringing and my vision lurching sickeningly.

“Watch it, love,” I slur as he nudges his toe under my ribs and flips me onto my back; I let him, I don’t think I can control my body quite yet. “Dent the case, you may break the goods.”  I level my gaze on him and spit some blood from my lips.  “And I don’t have the means to make another one.”

He’s holding the case in both hands, up like a shield and he’s just as pimply and just as young as ever.   

And obviously panicked.

His eyes are wide and he’s staring at me like I’m the ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.  I chuckle and beckon him forward with one crooked finger.  “What’s wrong you bastard?  Having second thoughts?”

I’m edging my feet forward, in between his and he hasn’t noticed, hasn’t noticed my gloved fingers closing around the neck of a broken bottle just to my side; he’s holstered the gun for now.

He thinks I’m down for good.

That I’m _broken._

I will never be broken though, that I promise myself in that one moment, as I lie on the dirt and disease encrusted floor of a rotting house in the slums of Venice, California.

This little shit will never have the honor of breaking me. 

I may not have a suit.

I may not have a glowing heart.

I may not have a shield or gamma irradiated genes.

Or even alien powers.

What I do have is...

_Common sense._

Clarence is thinking of his options and I’m thinking of mine and we’re both trying to decide who’s going to be the most likely to die tonight.

“Won’t be me,” I hiss as I twist my right ankle and raise my left foot.

With one blow to his knee and one twist of my ankle, he’s down and on my level.  Right where I need him. 

He falls and shrieks in agony as he lands directly on a few nasty shards of glass and twisted metal.  I don’t give him the chance to recover.

I straddle him and my bottle is tight at his throat and I’m snarling in his face.

And the case has skittered across the floor to lodge under the rotten island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Just who are you working for Clarence?” I hiss as I lean into his windpipe, my bottle tight at his jugular and his hands clasped tightly in my free hand.  I’m pressing on the glass lodged in his sides and he’s sobbing and twisting beneath me.  I don’t let him wriggle free.  “ _Who_?!  Tell me _now!_   Is it one of Stane’s lieutenants? Is that how the Iron Monger survived?!  Come on Pickers!  I know you’re not the brains of this outfit!” 

He isn’t talking.

He’s wailing.

And I can feel my time running out. 

“ _Tell me now and I won’t kill you_ ,” I say so calmly, so evenly as my fingers move from his wrists to twist in his greasy ginger hair and I slam his head back onto the shattered slate tiles we lean on.

He sobs and blubbers and his feet are drumming and I’ve nicked him with my green glass.

“I can’t say,” he sobs over and over.  “I can’t!  Please, I don’t know who-I can’t!  Please, Stark, please!”

I sigh and press the glass tighter to his throat.  “I’m not getting my parents back tonight am I?” I ask and he stills

And that’s when I know my time is up.

“No,” he whispers and his eyes are wider than they should be and I know…

I’ve made a mistake. 

There’s the faint crunch of glass just beyond the kitchen and I look up in time to see a tall figure wearing a black overcoat with a deep hood leave, the silver case in hand. 

The bastard doesn’t even look in my direction.

He just…leaves.

I ratchet out a laugh and close my eyes wearily. 

“You were just the distraction,” I breathe and I’m starting to rise from Clarence’s battered body when three things happen at once. 

The first is the crackle in my ear and a heartbreakingly familiar voice saying “ _Jack, you need to get out-_ “

The second thing is just as I’m levering myself up, my hand tight to his chest for leverage, Clarence Pickers shoots me.

And the third…

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised this little hell hole is rigged to blow.  I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise that my enemy knew I wouldn’t come to this house without some back-up.

Now it makes sense why JARVIS hacked out. 

“Gamma charges,” I choke out as the house falls around my ears.  I’m sprawled on the floor, blood pouring from the hole in my chest and Clarence is pinned at my side by a beam that’s missed me by a bare inch.  “That’s Stark Tech…” I groan as I struggle to sit up.  “How-Stane-“

I’m coughing and hacking and there are voices bellowing in my ear, in the rubble of the house but I can’t-

I can’t focus.

And Clarence is laughing.

And dying.

“You-you think it’s _Stane_ doing this?” he coughs as my body shuts itself down.  “You’re even more of an-an idiot than your f-father!”

His words are bloodstained and garbled.

Lost in the fire roaring around and over us.

In the sound of plaster melting.

And repulsor’s blasting.

And adamantium sloughing through granite.

“ _Who_?!” I hiss as my fingers close once more around his throat.  My blood is draining onto him, mingling with his in the dust and the ash but I couldn’t care less.  “ _Who is playing the game Clarence_?!” I scream into his dying face.  “ _Who?!”_

He sighs as blood dribbles from his lips and he whispers, “Least expected St-Stark.  Sister of s-sorts.  Your t-twin…”

I would ask what he meant.

But the rest of the house falls on me.

And my heart is busy pumping blood from between my ribs into the message-boy’s face. 

Besides…

He’s as dead as I am.

 _Not Stane_ , I think as the fire finds us. 

 _Not Stane but a sister?  I don’t have a sister,_ I think as my heart begins to stutter to a halt. 

 _I didn’t get my parents back_ , I think as darkness fingers along the corners of my eyes and fire kisses my limbs.  _Goddammit_ …

I’m gone by the time the heroes who came to save me, actually find my battered body.

Gone and bloodied. 

I wish they’d just let me stay gone…

**

_“Hey Jack,” Dad greets me when I open my eyes.  He’s sitting at his desk, a Rescue helmet in his hands and he’s smiling at me._

_“D-dad?” I choke out as I hurry to sit up, my eyes wild as I gaze around the workshop we’re in; I’m thoroughly expecting the place to be on fire or to see a shadowy villain slipping through the door on his way to destroy us once-and-for-all. “Wh-what’s going on?  How are you_ here _?!”_

 _He chuckles and sets the helmet aside.  “I’ve always been here baby!” he says as he kneels beside me.  For some odd reason-a reason I sort of understand, but not_ well _-I’m lying on the floor._

_Dum-E is gazing at me while Butterfingers and You hum in the background._

_I glance at Dad and jump when his form flickers from a cloaked figure and back to a grease-stained Tony Stark._

_He’s frowning._

_“You have to be more careful Jacqui,” he says sadly, his eyes drifting from my eyes to my chest.  “You’re going to end up with an arc reactor if you continue winging it baby.”_

_His fingers are tapping at his arc reactor._

_And that’s when I notice the pain._

_In my chest._

_“What happened?” I ask as I look down at myself to see blood trailing through the hole of the long sleeved black shirt I’m wearing.  “I don’t understand.”_

_When I look up it’s not Dad sitting beside me._

_It’s Mom._

_And she’s_ furious.

 _“You got yourself_ shot _Jack!_ Shot! _” she shrieks and I wince at the terror and anger in her voice.  “You_ knew _that boy was just a front-man and you thought you could take him!  You didn’t_ think! _Just like always, just like your_ father! _”_

 _Her finger is stabbing me in the chest, poking at the hole I don’t want to think about and it feels like she’s_ digging _the bullet out from between my ribs._

_I groan and sway.  “Mom, please,” I whimper as her cursed finger rocks and rolls against my ribs, her grey eyes pitiless.  “Please stop, it hurts.”_

_She doesn’t stop and that’s when I realize…_

_Mom’s eyes have never been grey._

_And she would never kneel on the floor of Dad’s workshop._

_“I told you to stop fixing me Strange,” I hiss and my mother’s form stops her digging and raises grey, power-filled eyes to mine.  “Nice trick,” I whisper as my fingers close around her throat.  “Now get out of my fucking head and take your_ magic _to someone who wants it.”_

_Strange doesn’t even give me the chance to kill my mother._

_He simply makes her vanish._

_And replaces the scene with something a little less traumatic._

_“I only seek to help you Jacqueline,” he murmurs beside me._

_We’re standing on the balcony now and the Pacific is as blank as it was the night I woke after the Iron Monger shattered me._

_I snort.  “Well, stop,” I snarl as I turn to face him.  I’m still in the long sleeved black shirt.  And there’s still blood trailing from the hole there._

_Distantly I can still feel the fingers digging under my ribs._

_Can still feel the bullet draining me of life._

_“I don’t want you to help me anymore Strange,” I mutter as I turn back to the ocean.  My surroundings are vague, not as clearly outlined as the workshop before and on some level I understand it’s because I’m dying._

_And because Strange isn’t expending as much energy or power on maintaining the illusion._

_“Why did you send my parents?” I ask when he continues the tense silence between us and he sighs._

_“Because, despite what you may think Jacqueline, I hoped it would ease your mind and aid my healing of your body,” he says, his deep voice weary, even here on the astral plane or whatever_ this _is.  He turns to face me and his eyes are so worn, so_ sorrowful _, I actually think he might have a heart.  And then he speaks, “We still need you to find your parents.”_

_I laugh, the sound harsh in the still peace of my grey matter and I press my hands against the railing, a part of me marveling at the texture of this farce.  “Ah, I see.  Well…how peachy for you all,” I mutter as I watch the waves ripple and vary their rocking.  “Will you ever let me go Strange?  Any of you?”_

_He sighs and presses his hand to my shoulder as he turns me to face him once more.  “Jacqueline we all love you, cherish you.  Why do you not accept this?”_

_I raise my eyes to his and sigh._

_“You’re an idiot Strange,” I hiss. “You’ve never had children have you?” He does not respond to the subtle barb on my part and I choke out a laugh.  “Forgive me for doubting oh Supreme Wizard,” I mutter as I turn back to the house, or what should be the house, “but I think us superhero kids may have some doubts when it comes to just how important we are to you people, since all you do is leave in the middle of the night and return in the morning half-dead, no matter how hard we beg you not to leave.”_

_He follows me, his cloak whispering over the vague outlines of tiling and wood floors and he stops just behind where I stand in the half-light of the Malibu house’s living room.  I sigh, the sound as weary and ragged and I can almost feel my form shivering out of existence._

_“It’s not going well, is it?” I ask the sorcerer quietly and he shakes his head._

_“Your lungs are collapsing,” he murmurs.  “The bullet struck your diaphragm and by the time we found you your left lung had collapsed and your right was filling with fluid.”  His hand settles on my shoulder but I do not notice.  I’m more focused on the ghostly pain in my chest and the writhing of my lungs.  “You should be resting,” he says.  “You should let me place you once more in the dreamscape.  It will let your body heal while your mind rests.  Please Jacqueline…”_

_“Take me back,” I whisper and his fingers spasm on my shoulder._

_“What?” he snaps, stunned at the route my mind has taken._

_I turn to him and I’m shaking and terrified.  But I don’t have_ time _to waste sleeping or dreaming or_ healing _.  “Send me back to my body, you bastard,” I hiss and I’m actually gripping his cloak, something Stephen Strange would never let another human being do in his earthly form.  But I’m desperate._

_I can feel time slipping by and I may have already missed my chance…_

_“Strange!_ Send me back now! _” I snarl, my voice shaking as cold panic starts to overwhelm me.  “I’m running out of time…_ so send me back! _”_

_His grey eyes lock with mine and he asks the only question that matters: “What have you done Jacqueline?”_

_I hesitate and turn my eyes towards where the workshop would be if we really stood in my parent’s Dream House._

_“Something clever,” I whisper and then I do something impossible._

_I wake myself up._

_**_

“ _JARVIS!_ ”

I surge off of the mattress, my back arching and my fingers clawing desperately into my mattress and I’m panting, sobbing, _bleeding_ as I strive to forget the dreamscape. 

To forget what it felt like to be a ghost. 

They’re still fixing me.

Stephen Strange is in just his shirtsleeves and there’s blood up to his elbows.  Faint lights trail from his fingers and warmth is blooming in my chest, but it is not comforting.

It is _pain_.

“JARVIS,” I sob as Strange snarls for someone to keep me still, to keep me from moving, to keep me _stable_.  “JARVIS please, I need you.” 

Steve is bellowing as his fingers clench on my head, as Carol pins my hips to the mattress, as Danny rests his hand gently over Strange’s and summons his chi. 

“How did she wake up Stephen?!  You said the coma she was in was absolute!  That you placed her mind in the aether!  Send her back!” 

Steve is panicking and my muscles are trembling with the strength of my pain and panic; I don’t notice their fear.  I’m listening for my father’s computer, for his cool British voice to tell me he’s here with me.  I’m waiting... 

Stephen Strange raises his eyes to mine and sighs as the magic once more grips me and tries to pulls me under, “She fought it Steve.  She woke herself up. 

I fight him.  His magic.  _I fight him._

Carol gasps and Steve’s eyes narrow but Danny and the Sorcerer do not notice. 

They have to fix me.

And JARVIS is finally talking to me.

“I am here Miss Stark.  How may I be of assistance?” he says and I sob as Danny’s fist brushes my lungs and begins easing life back into their battered flesh.

“Acti-activate G-ghost Program C-34-Toron, J,” I choke out through the blood bubbling in my throat.  “ _Do it_ JARVIS!” 

There is blood dribbling from my nose, from the corners of my lips, from my chest.

So much blood.

How can I even have any left?  After everything I’ve put myself through…

How am I still alive?

“Carol,” I whisper as darkness once more fingers along the corners of my vision.  “Carol, please…”

She’s there, her blonde hair rippling like sunshine over her shoulders and I tangle my fingers through it. 

“I’m here Jack,” she whispers, her eyes blazing with fear and that ever present anger and I smile. 

“G-good,” I choke as Danny’s fingers begin to pry at a shard of metal lodged in my ribs and Strange continues to massage my ruptured diaphragm, his magic struggling to repair the gaping hole there, “com- _computer_ , you have-have to- _computer._ Tracking the c-case.”

My words are failing, much like my heart is failing and my vision is more black than light and my breath is more liquid than air and I’m losing her.

Losing _me._

“JARVIS-JARVIS will help you.  _The computer_ Carol!  Have-have to…” I whisper desperately as she leans in to hear me.  I have to make her understand.

But my body doesn’t give me the chance.

Strange snarls out a curse as Danny sags to his knees and I can feel my lungs filling with blood, can feel my heart stuttering to a halt.

I can feel myself dying.

“JARVIS, please,” I choke as my back arches in agony and my fingers fall free of Carol’s hair.  “Please…”

“The Toron program has been activated Miss Stark,” he says as Strange rallies for one last go-around and my heart gives a mighty pump.  “Tracking is active and the device has been located.  How would you wish me to proceed, Miss Stark?”

“Find him,” I whisper as I finally let myself fade.  “Please… 

_Of course Miss Stark…_


	15. Chapter 15

“I thought I might find you here.”

My eyes open the moment Sam presses his lips to my neck.

“It’s barely eight in the morning baby,” he murmurs, his lips still brushing my skin. “What are you doing in your Dad’s workshop?”

I look around and am slightly amazed to realize he’s right.

I’m in Dad’s workshop. On a stool in the middle of the grid, surrounded by the blue and silver suit parts of the Bluebird, with grease on my fingers and ( _blood trailing between my breasts_ ) sweat dripping down my neck to pool in the collar of Sam’s threadbare Air Force tee I’ve stolen.

I jump as Sam presses his fingers against my collar bones and I glance down, half expecting to see my shirt darkening with blood and not sweat.

But there’s no blood.

There was never any blood.

I’m in Dad’s shop.

Safe.

_Aren’t I?_

_Hold her down Steve! Hold her down! The magic won’t work if she’s thrashing_ , a voice bellows in the back of my head and I can almost feel my lungs failing.

_What’s going on…_

“Jack?” Sam’s concerned voice snaps me back into the present and I gasp as he turns me slowly on my shop stool to face him. I take a deep breath, my eyes fluttering closed at the blessed feeling of my lungs filling with air and I let out a shaky laugh on the exhale.

“Oh God…” I breathe and his hands are cupping my cheeks now and I can smell him. “Sam.”

“Yeah, me, baby,” he says, his voice light with barely contained laughter. “You okay? Did I intrude on your mental paradise?”

My eyes flash open at that and my breath hitches as a ghost of pain shoots through my chest. “No,” I choke out as I take in his blue eyes, so unusual for his skin-tone and the tight white tee he always wears when he’s working out and I feel like crying at the feel of his callused fingers running over my cheeks. “No, you didn’t intrude Sammy,” I whisper and I’m sure I’m not the only one who notices the tremble in my fingers as I reach up to stroke his face. “You-you’re here. You’re here with me…I don’t understand…”

I swallow as he frowns and I try to ignore the copper-sweet taste of blood at the back of my throat and the trail and drip I can just barely feel on the flesh between my breasts.

There’s a ghostly ache in my bones.

And memories in my head.

Memories of…death…

 _She woke herself up_ , Stephen Strange snarls in my grey matter and Carol gasps.

 _But what did I wake up_ from?!

Sam chuckles, drawing my eyes back to his and he’s leaning in to kiss me. “Of course I’m here, Jack,” he murmurs as he presses his lips to my jaw, to my throat. “Where else would I be?”

I frown and firm my touch on his cheeks, silently assuring myself that he’s real and then I pull him up so I can kiss him.

I push the ghosts away the moment his lips meet mine and I sigh into him, molding my flesh to his in true desperation.

He helps me along, pulling me down to the floor so he can reach me better and his hands are splayed along the small of my back, urging me closer to him, pulling me into him.

It feels like coming home.

“You’re real, you’re here, oh God Sammy, please, I’m sorry,” I whisper and I don’t think my words are coherent or even words. I’m just…desperate. “I thought you died, you died, I held you in my arms and you died,” I sob and all I see is his battered face glowing in the macabre light of an arc reactor I stole to save him.

 _I didn’t save you though Sammy,_ I think and the words twist through my mind, twist and take on their own meaning. They taste like madness and sorrow. Like blood. _I didn’t save you Sammy!_

But here, in Dad’s workshop, he’s safe and he’s holding me.

Actually _holding_ me.

 “Shh,” he whispers, his lips tight to my temple as I run my hands over every inch of his skin I can reach. “Shh, it was just a bad dream. Just a nightmare. I’m here for you baby, I’ll always be here for you Jack.”

“ _Promise_ me,” I whisper as my eyes snap open to meet his and my fingers tangle in his shirt. “ _Promise me Sam_!”

The sheer panic in my voice catches his attention and he stills. “You know I do, Jacqueline Stark,” he murmurs as he cradles my face in his palms and presses his forehead to mine. “You know I will always be here with you. I love you…”

My breath hitches through my chest as he pushes me back against the cool cement floor of the workshop and I try to ignore the ache in my ribs, the drowning my lungs keep trying to do, the agonizing knowledge that…

Sam was dead.

“I dreamed something awful,” I whisper as he feathers more kisses along my skin, his lips and teeth setting fire to my trembling body. “I can’t get it out of my head…It feels like I’m dying every time I think about it…” I don’t watch what his mouth is doing to me. I don’t think I can.

Because every time I look at him…

“One of Dad’s enemies killed you Sam,” I whisper as he pulls the too-stretched collar of my shirt down for better access to the soft swell of my breasts and begins kissing them into a flush. “It-it was Zeke Stane,” I say through clenched teeth and I remember the horror of walking into my bedroom and seeing a bloodstained note on my pillow and the balcony doors open to the ocean beneath the house. I swallow and try to keep sane, even as he strokes me into madness. “He kidnapped you because he wanted to hurt Dad and me, for destroying his suits and his alliance with the Mandarin. He took you-ahh…”

My back arches instinctively against his chest the moment his mouth latches onto my nipple and I groan, for the moment speechless, lost to white-hot desire.

But no matter how well he is kneading my body into submission I never stop watching the blood trail from the flesh of our bodies.

I never stop seeing him die.

Never stop seeing a madman’s eyes glinting at me from the shadows.

“You died…” I whisper, tears beginning to well in my eyes as he begins pulling my shorts off. I raise my head and grip his chin tightly, forcing him to look at me and to stop distracting me. “You died Sam,” I snap, suddenly clear-eyed and so very aware of the dual memories in my mind. “How can you be _here_?!”

He smiles, that crooked grin I have loved since we were in diapers and he shifts so his knee presses between my legs, against the warm pulse of my center and he twists his head to press a kiss to my wrist.

“It was a dream baby, a dream,” he says as he turns heated blue eyes to mine. “You said it yourself. A _dream_. You came down here to work on your suit, on the Bluebird, and you fell asleep sitting up.” He chuckles and leans in to kiss the corner of my mouth. “I’m here, breathing and still kicking. I’d never die on you Jack, you know that. I love you…”

I’m frozen, half convinced.

But I can smell the blood…

His.

Mine.

 _Stane’s_.

“No,” I breathe as I close my eyes and turn my head. “No this isn’t right. Something’s wrong. I-You…You died Sammy! I killed eleven men to save you when Stane took you but I didn’t save you! I held your body and the Bluebird was broken and I crashed through the roof and there was blood everywhere and Strange had to lock me in the astral plane, force me to heal. I- _This isn’t right_.”

He sits up at that and his eyes are no longer loving.

They’re calculating.

“The Bluebird isn’t broken Jack,” he says and his hand is fisted in my shirt, keeping me pinned to the ground. He’s straddling me now, the hard musculature of his military-honed body bearing down on my hips and I would panic if…

If this wasn’t Sam.

His blue eyes are blazing, furious and I wonder what’s caused this. What I’ve said _this_ time to get his hackles up.

Then he’s moving off of me, his fist still locked in my shirt and he’s yanking me upright, his free hand moving to the nape of my neck.

“The Bluebird will never be broken Jacqueline Stark,” he snarls, his voice no longer the deep melody of Sam Rhodes’. It’s mad and grating…

The voice out of my nightmare.

I wonder if I looked, if his eyes would blaze with madness.

Somehow…

It wouldn’t surprise me.

 _He’s dead_ , my mind whispers. _He’s dead, this is just a dream. You’re dreaming, you’re dreaming and you need to wake up_ now _Stark! Don’t let him make you look…Don’t let him force you to choose…_

_Choose what?_

So many thoughts roiling in my head I don’t notice him jerking my chin up so I can see what stands on the grid.

What I apparently was working on when he found me.

“The Bluebird,” I breathe and he barks out a harsh laugh when my body yearns towards the blue, gold and silver suit glaring down on us.

I haven’t thought about what options these two are presenting me yet.

I don’t want to think about them…

“Yeah, your _fucking_ suit. We can’t forget the fucking _Bluebird_ , now can we? God knows you never will,” Sam snaps as he loops his arm around my waist and hauls me upright. He still won’t let me go to her, to inspect her metal alloyed limbs.

To try her on for size.

 _It is time to make a choice_ , a familiar voice whispers in the back of my mind as I start to struggle in my lover’s arms. I think it might be Strange. I can almost see his grey eyes, so weary and so wise, gazing at my broken body lying on a bloodstained mattress. _I can do no more for you Jacqueline Stark_ , he whispers. _This was ever the crossroads you would reach. Death or…_

“The Bluebird,” I whisper and suddenly I’m free of Sam, free of his tight grip. “She’s perfect…”

A soft snort behind me and I stop just short of running my fingers over the clever feathered layers of her chest.

“Sam,” I whisper as my hands fall limply to my side and I turn to face him. “I don’t understand…”

He’s standing in an at-ease position, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes are hooded. I can’t read him but judging by the tendons standing out in the muscles of his arms and the muscle ticking in his jaw I’d say…

He’s more hurt than furious.

It’s something I was so used to, long ago, when we were very nearly married.

He never understood my desire to fix, to play with the tech my father and his company invented.

He never understood…

Me.

He’s laughing now, his voice harsh and worn-thin. I wince but I don’t move. “You understand _perfectly_ Jacqueline Stark,” he snaps from his position just at the edge of the grid. “Don’t play that game with me. It was always the same with you. You were always going to end up _here_ , between me and that fucking _death-trap_.”

His chin jerks in the Bluebird’s direction and I can feel what little color there was, drain from my cheeks.

“Sammy,” I whisper and I’m walking towards him, my steps lurching and pained. It feels like I’m breathing through a straw, short and shallow and my lungs are struggling. Struggling to sustain me. But I can’t pay attention to that now. He’s waiting for me to choose. “Sammy, please…”

 _I can’t do this, not again_ , I think wildly as I press myself into his arms and rest my cheek against his chest. _How can you expect me to choose anything other than you?_

I don’t even notice the absence of a beating heart beneath my ear.

I have to make a choice.

“What should I do Sammy?” I whisper and I sigh when he wraps his arms around me and presses his lips to my temple. “I don’t want to leave you.”

He’s no longer mad…

And the drip of blood is long-gone from my skin.

I’m free-and-clear of the nightmare.

I’m standing in Sam’s arms.

I’m…

_Am I making my decision?_

He sighs and the sound of air washing through his lungs is reminiscent of waves washing over moonlit stones. “I told you you’d never lose me,” he whispers against the shell of my ear. “I made a vow to you Jacqueline Stark, to love you for the entirety of my existence. And I always will.” He pulls back from me for just a moment, his fingers once more on my chin, but they’re gentle now, loving once more. He smiles that crooked grin I always loved. “But you…you’re different Jack. You’re far too independent, far too _smart_. You always have been.”

He turns me gently, his hands firm on my shoulders and he leans down to murmur in my ear, “You have made this choice over-and-over.  You've stood in this very spot and struggled to make the right choice.  You have tried to be good, to be the daughter your parents wanted you to be but you have always chosen to be the person you yourself wanted to become.  You've fought your own battles in your own way, _always._  It's what makes you, you.  So what are you going to do now? Stand and fight? Or let someone else take your battles for you?”

He sighs and presses his lips to the hollow beneath my ear.

“The Bluebird is a part of you I could never share Jack,” he whispers and I shiver, half of my mind already analyzing her gently curved limbs and the faint gleam of titanium gears in her joints.  "Even before your Dad made her, there was always something in your blood that I would never understand.  Will never understand.  But you do.  This is your legacy Jack.  All you..."

I’m so close to making my decision…

“So I was right,” I whisper. “This is a dream?” He nods and wraps his arms around my waist and I sigh. “I’m dying again, aren’t I?”

He doesn’t reply.

The workshop is silent. The only noise is my heartbeat in my ears and the soft sigh of air sliding free of my lungs. The faint drip of blood on cement is ghostly, a barely perceptible tick in the back of my mind.

The suit and my lover are waiting for me to make my choice.

“If I choose you…” I whisper as I turn my face up to his. He kisses me gently and his eyes are so sad and so haunted I shudder and close my own. “I stay with you for the rest of my existence,” I finish and his arms tighten minutely around my waist. I sigh and finally face my decision.

I open my eyes and gaze at the elegant suit my father has designed for me.

I face the Bluebird once-and-for-all.

“My parents are still lost,” I whisper and I’m no longer talking to Sam.

I’m talking to the armor my father meant for me alone.

She just glares at me blankly, the soft tilt of her eyes as solemn and elegant as a cat’s.

I don’t notice Sam’s arms unwrapping from my waist. I don’t notice the workshop fading or the lights dimming.

I only have eyes for the suit.

“The heroes may not be able to access my Toron code. They may not be able to follow the tracer. JARVIS may have made a mistake or may have been duped. What if I’m the only one who can actually find them?” I whisper as I approach her, my bare feet silent on the tiled grid. She’s suspended, waiting for it to activate, for me to order the bots to dismantle her and then reassemble her on my limbs.

She’s waiting…

Like I am.

 _I’m going to kill Strange,_ I think as I press my fingers into the tablet waiting at the Blubird’s hip and begin accessing the suit’s energy core. _He forced this dream-state on me. He forced me to make a decision. He’s playing his own game and I’m…I’m going to…_

The grid activates the moment the computer reads my bio-signature and the faint hum of the power-up and the bots beneath my feet fill the still air around me and the Bluebird. My eyes flutter closed the moment hers begin to glow with the energy I’ve allowed to be diverted to her core and I don’t try to remember if her arc was in place just moments before.

This is a dream.

Just my mind pulling tricks on me thanks to the magic a sorcerer has used to keep me breathing.

I can taste blood on my lips again and I understand why now.

I remember the house in Venice.

The bomb.

The bullet in my chest.

Dying…

I remember that.

It’s exhausting.

“I’m so sick of this. Of all of it,” I whisper and I know that no matter what is happening before me at this very moment that I still have time to walk away.

To walk away from waking.

From living.

From my parents.

I can walk away from the Bluebird still.

I don’t.

The feel of cold metal sliding over my skin is subtle and I almost don’t notice the faint hum of bolts sliding home in my joints and hips. Or the faint click and clatter of metal junctures sliding into place up over my legs and across my chest.

I don’t notice the back-breaking weight of gold-titanium alloy settling on my shoulders.

The only thing I notice is the trickle of blood trailing over my collarbones to drip between my breasts.

I only notice the ache in my lungs and the shallow pull of my breath as I struggle to keep from drowning in that same trickle of blood.

I only notice…

“I’m sorry Sam,” I whisper to the far-too empty blackness before me, just moments before the Bluebird’s silver and blue helmet slides into place and the golden faceplate slams closed against my cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t choose you…”

As the darkness begins to slide over the dimly lit grid there’s a hum and a familiar burn in the area between my breasts and just as I’m sure the darkness is going to eat me and my suit up, the arc reactor gasps into life.

Once more the shadows of my nightmares are chased away by the silver light of my father’s genius.

And I’ve finally made my decision.

I wake up.

**

They’ve left Logan to watch over me.

He’s sprawled in the chair beside my bed when I open my eyes back to reality and he’s playing solitaire on the bedside table, the ever-present cigar jutting from the corner of his lips; I can’t help wondering why it’s him next to me and not Rhodey or Steve.

Or Carol.

“You can move that King of Spades to the free space beside that Jack of Hearts,” I croak weakly as my body starts to shiver with the shock of waking.

He doesn’t even look at me.

He does move the King though.

“About time you woke up, Stark,” he growls as he flips his hand and studies the new array of cards before him. “I was starting to worry.”

I snort, painfully.

“Yeah right Logan,” I mutter as I begin testing my body’s strength. He glances at me the moment the sheets start to rustle and my breath begins to hitch.

“Might want to take it easy kid,” he says as he sits up in his chair, cards forgotten at his side. “Doc’s still got you under a healing spell.”

That’s when I notice the faint pink glow drifting over my skin. I can just make out the runes and curved letters of power Strange has used to knit me back together

It’s cold instead of warm and that alone is enough to remind me how much I hate magic.

I sigh and finally settle against the pillows, for the moment content to lay still and let Strange have his way with my battered body.

“How long?” I ask my companion and he sighs before turning back to his cards. My eyes narrow and I contemplate pouring the pitcher of water they’ve left for me over them. “How _long_ Logan?” I snap and I can’t help feeling a little bit relieved at the strength in my voice.

He glances at me and the hesitation is enough to tell me something has happened.

Something bad.

“What did you guys do?” I whisper and I’m curling into myself, curling into my aching chest. I close my eyes, anything to block the shadows I see in his dark blue eyes. The horrible truth. “What’s _happened_?”

He’s quiet for just a moment and then he sighs.

“You’ve been out for six hours. During that time, they went after the case, the case you rigged Jack,” he mutters after a moment and my heart freezes. He’s rubbing his hands, a nervous tick he has sometimes, and all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears.

I’m thinking.

Trying to remember the Toron code I created just for this moment…

“Did they find it?” I ask after a moment and we both wince at the harshness in my voice. He pours me a glass of water and leans against the bedside table as I sip.

He’s still watching me carefully. “No, they didn’t,” he growls after a moment when I’ve finally had my fill of water. He takes the glass from me and I avoid his gaze. “JARVIS sent them to New York but they found nothing but dust and some really confused civilians. Seems they were given the wrong coordinates,” he finishes and I can almost hear the dark humor in his voice.

My eyes close and I sigh in relief. “Thank God,” I whisper. “I need to get to the workshop before they come back. I’m running out of time. I need JARVIS to get the right coordinates, to find my parents.” Before he can ask what I’m doing I’m struggling once more with the blankets, struggling to rise but there’s something wrong.

I’m…exhausted…

I’m gasping and limp a few moments later, sagged against the pillows and the cold magic on my skin is roiling. I take a few deep breaths, silently blessing the tank at my side and I glance at Logan.

“I can’t move,” I mutter and he nods.

“Doc’s doing,” he mutters as he bends to yank the blankets from my limp body. I realize I’m in nothing but bandages and boy-shorts but I don’t think twice about it. I’m more focused on trying to move. It doesn’t work. Logan chuckles and slips his arms under my legs and shoulders. “Strange seemed to think you’d try to get up the moment you woke and decided to up the ante on the spell he’s using to knit your innards back together,” he explains as he tucks my head into his shoulder and bends to grab the oxygen tank.

Somehow he balances my battered body and the tank and as he’s slipping from the room I ask, “Why didn’t you go with the others?”

He snorts and hefts me a bit higher in his arms before crossing the living room silently and heading towards the curved staircase leading to the workshop.

“You forget I’ve known you Starks for nearly eighty years kid?” he growls as he hurries down the stairs. He hasn’t even broken a sweat, despite my deadweight.

I would be annoyed.

If I had the energy.

“I’ve worked with Tony for decades now kid, I know how his brain works,” he says as he waits for me to enter my access code into the workshop’s door. The doors slide open and he eases me through before making his way to the couch. When he sets me and the tank down he taps me on the forehead. “I know how _your_ brain works too Jack,” he growls as he settles on his heels and gazes at me seriously for a moment.

I hesitate for a moment and then swallow. “Can you hand me the tablet sitting on the desk Logan?” I ask weakly and he nods. “Thanks,” I whisper when he sets the thin Stark design into my hands before settling in a chair next to the couch. I’m shaking; even the little movements I’ve made to grip this device, exhausting my small energy reserves. “You knew I wouldn’t let them access the code entirely, didn’t you?” I ask as I pull up the tracker and the map JARVIS has provided thanks to the Toron I’ve rigged into the fake arc reactor.

I wonder if its owner has tried to use it yet.

I wonder what Clarence meant by “sister of sorts” and “twin.”

I wonder if Strange will ever let me move again.

Logan smirks and shrugs. “I thought it might be a possibility,” he mutters around the unlit cigar in his mouth. “You’re as stubborn as your Dad, if not more so. You both have this strong desire to self-sacrifice. I didn’t think you’d make it so easy for the other’s to do the same.”

Finally I have the map up and I can tell immediately what JARVIS has done.

“He switched one line of code,” I whisper as I struggle to sit up; Logan leans forward to help me and I shoot him a smile. “JARVIS, did you mislead Captain Rogers and Rhodey on purpose?” I call to the computer as I begin accessing the code and pull up the map of greater LA the tracker is bleeping through.

My Dad’s computer is quiet for a moment and then he speaks up, “I am sorry Miss Stark, but considering the contingencies you placed within the final line of code, I considered it wise to follow your last desires. I do hope I have done nothing wrong?”

His sheepish tone is enough to make me chuckle and I wince at the resulting pain. “You’re fine J, thank you,” I mutter.

Somehow I manage to swing my legs off of the couch and Logan hurries to steady me as I stand. I don’t know how, but the magic is trailing from my limbs, finally leaving my body and I can’t help being relieved.

Finally, I am free of Stephen Strange’s touch.

“What ‘contingencies,’ Stark?” he growls as he helps me limp towards the desk and the devices I have scattered across its surface. “How’d you trick the Captain?”

I smirk as I lower myself into the chair and pull up the Toron and the map. “I didn’t trick them, Logan,” I say as I raise shaking fingers to expand the LA map. The signal has come to a rest in the shipping district.

I’m terribly familiar with that section of city.

And that row of warehouses.

I suppose I’m not really surprised in the end; after all this is my ghost I’ve been fighting, my nightmare.

“I provided an option for JARVIS,” I explain as I turn in my chair and glance over my shoulder towards the armory and the darkened grid. I can just make out the shadowy silhouettes of the two suits waiting there and I wonder if I’ll be able to finally try mine on.

The dream…the dream has created an itch I want so desperately to scratch.

I want to feel that cold metal on my skin.

Logan is watching me carefully and I smile before shrugging. “JARVIS? Mind explaining the death and demise pact I wrote into the code?” I call as I pull up the results of the vibranium rendering he and the workshop’s bots have done for me while I was out dying.

The vibranium is ready.

It’s just waiting for a core to settle in.

And a suit to power.

JARVIS starts explaining my tricky coding to the thoughtful Wolverine and I can’t help being impressed with their patience with each other.

It was never uncommon to hear about how much Logan hated Dad’s computer in the old days.

And how much the computer hated the smell of adamantium in the morning.

“The ‘death and demise pact,’” he murmurs, his voice still sheepish, “as Miss Stark has so cleverly titled this particular code of her design, essentially provided the computer an option, in the event of her dying or being incapable of commencing the program, of alerting her guardian’s as to the correct location of sir and Mrs. Potts-Stark.”

Logan is quiet for a moment, his eyes locked on me, while I avoid his gaze and focus on the circle of glass Dum-E has handed me during JARVIS’s report. The silver glow of the streamlined metal within spills over my hands and I wonder just how powerful my father’s design really is.

Probably very powerful.

“You allowed a computer to decide whether or not to tell your Dad’s colleagues where he and Pepper are being held against their wills?!” he snaps suddenly and I jump. “You thought you were going to _die_ and you let a _computer_ play games with us Stark!”

He’s standing over me now, his eyes blazing and his muscles trembling.

I wait for the telltale ‘snikt’ of claws emerging to slit my throat and I don’t meet his gaze. Instead I press one finger into the computer screen before me and order JARVIS to open the safe just to the side of my Dad’s desk.

“I did what I had to, to keep you guys safe,” I mutter as my father’s treasure chest emerges from the wall. I still don’t look at the Wolverine. “I left the decision up to JARVIS because in the end he was always going to have a better idea of my chances of survival than me or even Stephen Strange. He decided my survival rate was high enough so he diverted Steve Rogers and Carol Danvers and their team in hopes that I would wake up in time to commence my own rescue mission.”

I finally glance at him as the safe door swings open and I shrug. “If I had been unconscious for just one more hour, he would have notified them as to the true location of the case and they would have diverted their mission. None the wiser, I might add.”

He’s still furious.

But I don’t have time for him and his claws.

My knees are trembling when I kneel before the safe and begin searching through the tiny black boxes lining its shelves. I’m still weak, still healing. But I can breathe now and my ribs no longer ache every time I move.

I take the cannula out of my nose before reaching into the back of my father’s stash and grab a box marked with a simple ‘J’ and two feathers.

I know what will be waiting for me within that little box.

“I did what I had to, Logan,” I mutter as I stand, the box snug in my hands. I don’t meet his gaze or even wait for him to reply. “I did what I have always done.”

I flip open the box.

And smile.

“I play my own game and choose the players as I see fit,” I murmur as I scoop up the circle of titanium waiting for me.

Its center is empty, waiting for its heart and soul to be snapped into place.

The chest plate of the Bluebird is just as empty but finally, thanks to my father and his clever bots, her heart will be in place.

And I’ll be able to play.

Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right. 
> 
> This is it guys. 
> 
> After this chapter there are only two more sections of the story. 
> 
> As ever, thanks for reading and thanks for commenting! 
> 
> It means a lot and I love it.
> 
> -M


	16. A Beautiful Dance:  The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a bad guy. This isn't a villain. This is something monstrous and magical. Beyond science; beyond reason. This is the face of a miracle. A real and true and tragic-beyond-imagination miracle.~Tony Stark (Invincible Iron Man V. 1 105)

I asked my Dad once, what it was like suiting up for the first time in a new suit of armor. 

I’d always been curious, especially since he was always debuting some new Iron Man tech to play with.  Tony Stark had a suit for every occasion it seemed like, especially once he eradicated the Extremis virus from his body.  In my Dad’s eyes he could never have enough tech, never have enough protection. 

As such he had more tricks up his sleeves than a magician. 

 _It’s one of the scariest things I could ever do Jack_ , he told me once, as black and gold armor slid up his limbs to coat his body in unbreakable titanium.  _It’s amazing and scary, all at the same time._

 _Why?_ I’d asked from my position on his desk, an apple at my lips and my damp swimming suit dripping water onto the surface of his keyboard.

It was the summer I’d lived with him while Mom traveled between Malibu and Tokyo.  The summer I had Tony Stark all to myself.

Until the bad guys came a’knockin’ and Captain America sent him a summons. 

Dad smirked before the gold scowling faceplate snapped home over his face and shrugged first one shoulder then the next.  _I never know if something is going to work right, kiddo.  I’m putting my faith in designs I’ve come up with at five in the morning and trusted to bots who may not be capable of proper execution._ He took a step off the grid and approached me, his steps heavy and metallic and I grinned around the apple I still munched on.  _It’s like your Mom always says,_ he continued as he bent to rest his forehead against mine, cool metal reflecting my light blue eyes.  _Sometimes I’m too clever for my own good Jack._

 _Like me?_ I asked and he chuckled, the Iron Man’s voice protocols lending a certain gravel to his voice and he nodded.

 _Too much like you, baby_ , he muttered before taking a step back and began preparing for his departure.  _Be good for Jessica, okay?  Don’t bug her and Danielle too much or I’ll never hear the end of it._

 _Okay Daddy_ , I said as he assumed his take-off position and prepared to leave me alone once more.  _Be careful._

_Always, baby, always…_

“You sure about this Stark?” Logan asks while my suit begins to come apart like a very complicated jigsaw puzzle over the surface of the grid.  “What if your Dad didn’t finish it?”

My arms are folded over my chest, over the tight black polymer under-armor Dad designed for extensive flight missions, (chafing, he always said, was the #1 cause of superhero demise) and I try to ignore the ghostly ache in my ribs.  JARVIS and I aren’t sure how well my body will hold up to the armor, after all of the damage it has received the past few days, but I’m not about to wait for Strange’s magic to finish its work.

I have the suit and I have the location of my parents. 

I’m going to take advantage of each.

Even if the Wolverine snubs his nose at my Dad’s tech. 

“According to her specs, she’s done,” I mutter as I wait for the bots to finish aligning her for a proper suit-up.  “There’s some minor detailing to be done on the chest plates, but other than that she’s flight and fight ready.”  I shrug and glance in the Wolverine’s direction.  “I’m willing to risk it.” 

He’s glaring at the suit, almost as if he blames the metal for the things happening to him and his team.  It’s a look I’ve seen countless times.

The Wolverine is not necessarily a flexible man. 

“I still say your Dad’s suits are fucking death traps,” he growls and I pause in the process of finishing my read-through of the analysis of the War Machine armor JARVIS conducted for me while I was out of commission. 

His words are eerily close to the dream-version of Sam’s.  I can almost see him standing in Logan’s place, snarling at me with the mad eyes of death. 

I can still hear him…

I summon a smile and close out Rhodey’s suit’s specs.  I think I have a good idea of just how much strain the suit will put on my heart, thanks to Dad’s detailed reports and Rhodey’s feedback.  If all else fails, I know how the arc will work on a heart not suited to the tech. 

 _Not well_ , is the long and short of it.  How Rhodey has survived decades of extended use I don’t think I’ll ever understand. 

But I’m not Rhodey.

And I’m not my Dad.

I’m not planning on extended use. 

Logan’s watching me carefully, his eyebrow quirked and I sigh.  “Of course it’s a death trap,” I mutter as I stand and slip my modified Stark phone into the hip pocket of my under-armor.  I don’t even notice its slim weight at my hip and I’m sure it won’t run any interference with the Bluebird.  Doesn’t matter even if it did.  I need it, so I’ll use it.  

I move past Logan and pat his arm with a smirk.  “Dad designed it Logan; it has a vibranium core in its chest and more fire power than a Soviet tank.  Its entire purpose in life is death, _bub_.” 

He snorts and grumbles something, something that sounds like, _Damned fool Starks.  Going to kill us all._

I roll my eyes but don’t answer. 

Because in all honesty…

It’s probably true.

I fiddle with the zipper of my under-armor and consider the suit waiting for my body and my heart.  The Bluebird is flawless and I take the time to cherish that. 

She won’t be for long.

 _Dad’ll kill me if I bring this back scratched and bloody,_ I think idly as my fingers move from zipper to polymer shrouded feathers.

 I start to tap nervously as I pace before the suit and I suck my teeth thoughtfully for a moment before asking, “JARVIS?  I need you to run a catalogue of the active Iron Man armors in the greater LA area.  I want to know if Dad's suit is in that warehouse.  See if you can identify the call-sign of the Mark he was wearing that night in New York.” 

“Of course Miss Stark, I shall try to the best of my ability to find sir's suit.  Although it may be difficult, considering how many wrecks and ill-planned battles he has taken part in over the past forty years, within this city.” 

I roll my eyes and keep pacing, my thoughts marching to the rhythm my feet execute.  Somehow it’s more relaxing than sitting and feeling Logan’s eyes on my head.

“I just want _active_ call signs, J.  I don't want scrap,” I tell my father’s computer with a sigh, my fingers clenched over my collarbones.  My mind is spinning as I start coming up with a scrap of a plan, that may help save my parents.  

I just need to make sure I won't be flying into that warehouse without at least  _some_ back-up.

_What about your heart though?  You won't be able to fight for long, if JARVIS is correct..._

The thought worms its way into my head and I sigh.  After two days of almost-dying followed by extensive rehabilitation on Doctor Strange’s part, my heart has gone through far too much strain.

Conceivably, the Bluebird will be too much for my battered body to endure. 

Especially if I mean to fight. 

Which I do. 

It’s very quiet in the workshop and I shift in my thin-soled boots, my fingers still tapping and my skin crawling at the thought of once more dying in a gold-titanium alloy coffin.  It's enough to give me nightmares, enough to make me wonder if I shouldn't just leave this to Steve or Rhodey. 

Those with more experience than me.  

“JARVIS?” I ask quietly, mostly for the sake of hearing my voice.  “What did you find?” 

If he could sigh, I’m sure he would.  “Miss Stark, my sweeps are not entirely complete, but I daresay your belief of a rogue suit being within the boundaries of the city of Los Angeles is correct.  I have identified an Iron Man suit in the warehouse the Toron device located for us.  It is MK XXV.  I am afraid it has been damaged though; the suit's computer is registering significant performance issues in its base repulsors and-"

"It can function though, right JARVIS?" I snap, cutting off his report.  "It will still assemble over my father's body, correct, J?"

"Yes Miss Stark," he replies promptly.  "According to the computer, sir was able to execute a forced dismantle, which damaged some of the joints within th suit's limbs, but ultimately it is intact.  It will bear sir easily."  

My lips curl into a small smile and I glance over my shoulder to the still glowering Wolverine; he’s smoking now, something Dad would surely harp on him about, but I couldn’t care less.  He’s watching me carefully, his eyes as calculating and I realize one of us at least knows how this battle is going to end up. 

I turn back to my suit and step onto the grid, not before asking though, “How long of a flight is it to the Los Angeles shipping district J?”

“Fifteen minutes, Miss Stark,” he replies promptly and I nod. 

“How many flunkies at the warehouse?  Can you provide a visual please?”

I pace around the disassembled pieces of the suit, my fingers trailing over a piece of chest plate here, a thigh panel there and the still empty hollow, waiting for the arc reactor I’ve left on the desk. 

I take a step off of the grid and lift the device, snug in its base into my hand, just as JARVIS supplies me with a visual of my targets.

I pause in the process of snapping the arc home in the right breast of the suit and turn my gaze to the map.  The warehouse from my nightmares is snug in the center of the shipping district.  There’s a pulsing red dot at its roof. 

My villain is still within.

Or the suit is, at least.

I don’t want to think about what that may mean for my parents. 

“Infrared please,” I mutter as the arc clicks home and the energy panels begin to hum cheerfully; the map changes immediately, surging from street view to infrared and I smile absently. 

There are eight people at the warehouse.

Five are patrolling the boundaries of the building, most likely armed and dangerous.  I don’t pay attention to them though.  I only have eyes for the three people standing ( _dying_?) in the center of the abandoned building. 

Two of the red and gold blurs are blending into each other. 

My parents.

And the third…

Is moving towards them. 

"Miss Stark, I must inform you an enemy suit of unknown origin is within the warehouse.  It bears the arc reactor you modified within this premises two days ago."  

My eyes have never left that third blur; it's massive, dominating most of the tiny room my parents are being kept in and I wish I could have a proper visual.  I want to see what the bastard has done with my arc.  

I want to see what's  _using_ my little present.  

“Right,” I mutter as the blur bends over what I think may be my father (I can't tell, how can I tell?!) and before I can think-analyze- _plan_

I’m stepping into my suit.  “Let’s do it J,” I snap and I close my eyes the moment he activates the grid’s codes. 

For some reason, I don’t want to see the suit encase me.  I don’t want to watch the metal slide and snap over my body. 

I want to _feel_ it.

 _It’s like coming home_ , Dad whispers in the back of my mind as the suit’s boots absorb my feet and begin to snap over my calves.  _It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before Jack.  The suit fits you perfectly, knows every inch of your skin, every line of your musculature.  You’ve made it, but really?  The suit is what makes you in the end._

I shiver as the gears of the Bluebird’s hips lock in place over my own flesh-and-blood joints and all I hear is the whisper of metal sliding over metal, of gears spinning home at my joints, of panels fluttering and snapping over my spine, over my shoulders. 

The chest plate is in two pieces and the moment my shoulders are in place the chest slides home.  It’s tight; I can tell immediately that Dad based the Bluebird’s designs after the Rescue suit. 

And Mom’s a bit smaller in the chest than I am. 

I smile and chuckle as the junctures connect with the shoulders, completely encasing my torso in nearly indestructible titanium alloy.  It’s a bit tricky to breathe but I’ll be fine.

It’s just fifteen minutes flight time.  And ten minutes, tops, to take care of the goons. 

I’ll be fine.   

Besides…no matter the flaws in my Dad’s measurements, the Bluebird’s still perfect. 

She’s mine. 

“Logan,” I snap as the bots connect the collar to the suit’s torso.  “You have to do me a favor.”

His eyebrow rises and he takes a thoughtful drag on his cigar.  “What do you want me to do kid?”

I meet his gaze from across the room, just as the helmet slides into place and I smile.  “Keep the Avengers out of my way,” I say in the seconds before the silver and gold face plate snaps into place and I prepare to take-off from my father’s basement workshop. 

“ _This is my game,_ ” the suit snarls as the arc reactor warms between my breasts and the foot thrusters begin to engage. 

I’m flying through the roof by the time he responds. 

“Not a problem Stark.  Good hunting,” the Wolverine growls in my ear. 

I barely notice.

After all…

I’ve suited up and I’m going to save Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. 

I don’t have time to think.

**

Five years ago if you had told me I would be in a suit trying to save my parents, I probably would have laughed in your face and kicked you out of my opulent Stark Resilient R&D office. 

Five years ago I wouldn’t have believed my parents would ever _need_ saving.

After all, their best friends were  _superheroes._

And I was only ever me.  

“ _Miss Stark, my sensors show sir and Mrs. Potts-Stark are within an inner room of this building.  Rather close to the furnace, I believe._ ”

JARVIS’s voice in my ear is the only thing I notice as I sag to my knees beside the crumpled body of the last goon I’ve pounded into the crumbling pavement.  Luckily for him, for _all_ of them, I don’t have the power to kill them.  They’ll live to see another day. 

This time. 

The past twenty minutes are a blur; I don't even remember landing on the first of the unsuspecting flunkies.  I just remember the arc warming between my breasts and the repulsors at my hands churnig with my commands as I turned my silver eyes on the screaming punks.

I don't even remember ordering JARVIS to fire.  

Maybe he put me on auto-pilot.  

I suppose it doesn't really matter in the end; five men are down and I'm that much closer to saving my parents.  Of finishing this nightmare of a game.  My lungs are aching and my ribs are screaming in agony, even as I take a breather; I wince in response and press my metal encased fingers to my collar, just above the silver arc reactor.  The gold-titanium is breaking me down the longer I fight in it. I never thought it would be so hard to fight in one of my Dad's armors.  

I wish I could ask him if it was ever this hard, when he first began the Iron Man persona.

 _Five men, five men down.  Just have to get to the parents.  Just have to get to them, then I can get out of this bastard_.

The thought is all static in my mind. 

JARVIS said my heart wouldn’t bear the suit’s powers for long, not with the extensive damage to my body. 

I didn’t believe him when I was snug in my Dad’s workshop.

By God, I’m starting to now. 

“Fuck,” I whisper as I push myself upright, the joints and gears whining as I force the suit and the arc to perform.  “Fuck this.  Give me a visual J,” I mutter to the computer as I take up my launch position and prepare to fly into the same building from five years ago when the man I loved lay broken and dying within a cave of death. 

The HUD’s screen changes from analyzing my life-support systems to the map I need and I sigh as Dad’s heart rate is registered in the corner, closely followed by Mom’s. 

They’re each racing and Dad’s seems to be going through its paces, struggling to keep beating.  My blood freezes at what _that_ means for Tony Stark. 

I shiver in my suit as my own heart hammers desperately against my ribs and JARVIS murmurs something about my time running out, about the suit damaging my still healing corpse.

But I don’t notice.

I only have eyes for the room my parents have been bleeding in for the past four days.  It’s familiar.  I wonder if the floors are still stained by the blood I spilled there five years ago.

Somehow…

I wouldn’t be surprised. 

This building has traded hands, according to J, five times.  But when you get down to the knitty-gritty, it’s still HAMMER Inc. property. 

Why?

“Let’s go J, I want to get this over with,” I mutter as the base repulsors at my feet begin to engage.

“ _Of course Miss Stark, your route is clear.  If you take a flight plan as I have provi-_ “

“Yeah, let’s do something a little more inspired shall we JARVIS?” I mutter as I lift off and blast across the roof, the HUD providing me a clear vantage of the maze of rooms rotting away beneath my metal-encased body.

Finally I find the room I need and my eyes lock on the infrared image of one of my parents JARVIS provides without me asking.

It still hasn’t registered that I’m going to be seeing Tony Stark and Pepper Potts within a few moments.

I can’t let myself believe.

I can’t let myself be distracted.

“Kill power,” I snap just as my heart surges in my chest and my lungs spasm. 

JARVIS lets me go and I fall.

Straight through the roof, straight through the rafters, straight through to the ancient cement floor, where I land with an ominous clang, on one knee, my hands extended and the repulsors humming.  Despite the agony my battered body is experiencing, I'm prepared to blast any assailants still here, in the face. 

The Bluebird is as ready as I am, thanks to my Dad's computer; JARVIS has placed the HUD in battle mode.  The curved screen in front of my eyes is all red lights and weapons catalogues. 

It’s identified an enemy suit in the vicinity and it’s preparing me for yet another fight. 

I don’t notice _any_ of this though.  I don’t notice JARVIS’s panic or the deadening of my limbs or even the ache in my ribs. 

The only thing I notice…

“ _Hey Dad_ ,” the suit growls for me as I rise slowly from my crater in the middle of the moldering furnace room. 

Tony Stark’s grinning at me, despite the blood dribbling from his lips and the gaping hole in his chest. 

“Hey kid, about time you showed up,” he chokes out with a weak laugh as I fall to my knees beside him.  “Nice suit…”

His hand settles weakly on my helmeted cheek and I wish desperately that I wasn’t wearing a tonnage of titanium.

I wish I could hold him in my flesh-and-blood arms.  

He’s sprawled on the floor where his captor has dropped him like so much flotsam, his body convulsing as his heart struggles to beat back the shrapnel drifting in his blood; the HUD tells me it’s only a matter of time before Tony Stark is dead. 

“ _I came as fast as I could, Dad,_ ” I mutter.  I sigh when the suit growls and I order JARVIS to lift the faceplate. 

For the first time in five years, I’m able to look Tony Stark in the eye. 

“Hi,” we both say at the same time and I wince at the agony in his voice.  “Dad,” I snap as his eyes close in agonized pain and his back arches; I drag him into my arms and inspect the cavity in his chest, my metal fingers shaking in terror at its dark emptiness.  Then I shake him, gently but forcefully, making him groan. “Dad, look at me!  Where’s the arc!  Where’s your arc reactor?!” 

His arc is gone.

His heart is beating on its own.

And he’s dying. 

“G-gone, she broke it.  Pep-Pepper,” he whispers and he’s shivering against the hard metal of my arms.  His eyes flash open and his hand rises to grip my chin.  “Jack, she has Pepper!  You have to get your Mom before she takes out her arc!  Don’t let her take your Mom’s arc!  Pep-Pepper won’t-she won’t _survive_ Jack!” 

I frown and order JARVIS to dismantle the Bluebird.  “I know Dad, I know," I mutter as the clasps at my shoulders spring free with a sigh of hydraulics.  I’m kneeling over him as the metal begins to slough off my skin in the forced dismantle JARVIS is executing as quickly as he can.  It’s bad for the suit and brutal on the arc’s power sources but it should be enough…Dad's watching the suit, even now, while he's dying, analyzing and scheming.  It's so _frustrating._   

I snap my fingers, still gold and blue metal, in front of his eyes.  "Dad, I'm going to get Mom, don't worry," I say, my voice hard and desperate.  He drags his eyes back to mine and I see the great Tony Stark strive to focus, to  _think._   I sigh and press my forehead to his.  "Dad, please, you have to tell me who did this!  Who took your arc?  Who has Mom, Dad?  Who’s ‘she’?!”  

He coughs weakly and like my nightmares, blood sprays from his lips to splash across my arc.  "St-Stane," he whispers, his voice agonized.  "S-Sash-It's a St-Stane.  She has _Pepper_ "

“Stane?  Are you sure?” I gasp as metal falls from my limbs like shed skin.  He’s staring at some point just over my left shoulder, his blue eyes clouded with pain and I know, without JARVIS, that Tony Stark isn’t long for this world.  “ _Dad,_ _listen to me_!” I snarl as I grip his chin and force his head up, force him to _focus_.  “Don’t do this to me Tony Stark!  I didn’t bust every bone in my body for you to die in this fucking _hole_ , okay?  Just hold on for me, okay?!”

“Okay baby,” he breathes, more blood spraying with his words, and I shiver at the feel of it on my cheeks.  I don't have time to worry about him bleeding out on me though, I have to fix him. I bend to his chest as he whispers, “You’re so beautiful Jack…”

I shiver again as I shove my fingers into the cavity leading to the magnet against his heart and I try to ignore his fingers trailing through the hair spilling over my shoulder.

I try to ignore what it feels like to hold another’s life in my hands.

Again.

 _How can they do this on a daily basis?_ I think as my father dies at my side.  _How can they_ live _with themselves?_

“Please, just hold on for me Daddy,” I whisper as my fingers shift through wires and inspect electric panels and slide up the slick metal walls of what is commonly referred to as Tony Stark’s heart.  “I’m going to fix you, okay?  I’m going to fix your heart.  Just _hold the fuck on._ ”

Finally, moments later, I have him all situated.

There are some stripped wires.

Some scratches on the panels. 

Without the HUD and JARVIS in my ear I can't tell how extensive the damage is to his heart, but I'm hoping it's no worse than anything Dad's experienced in the past.  I'm hoping he'll be able to walk away from this.  

I'm hoping my arc reactor will fit my father's heart..

_Will it keep his heart running long enough for him to get home and into a proper arc?  Will he be able to come back from this?_

I don't have the answers.  

Just a hope and a prayer .

“Dad, this is going to hurt,” I mutter to him as I rest my hand against his chest and lean towards the empty shell of my suit.  His fingers close around my wrist weakly and I pause for a quick peck on his cheek and a whispered _I love you Daddy_ , before continuing my work.

My silver arc, the arc JARVIS and the bots built for me while Strange rebuilt me, is waiting for my Dad's heart, and I pray to God that it will be enough to get him out. 

“Hold on Dad,” I whisper as he writhes under my hand and begins to wheeze.  “I’m not going to lose you too.”

Then, just as he draws one final breath…

I slam Tony Stark’s new heart home. 

**

“ _You’ve been naughty Jacqueline Stark_ ,” the voice whispers through the dark and I sigh.

I've moved from the dimly lit furnace room and my father's body, into the main part of this ramshackle HAMMER out-building.  I'm chasing the ghost who's stolen my mother and I'm  _tired_.  I'm so ready to call this quits and just give up the game.  I don't want to fight anymore.  I don't want to be expected to fight.  

I just want to live out the rest of my life in peace.  

But that is  _never_ going to happen.  

Not while I draw breath.  

Not while the Stark family keeps to the skies.  

“Still playing games Stane?” I call as I walk calmly through the shadows of this cavernous space.  I’m not fazed by the dark, not anymore. 

I’ve got nothing left to lose. 

Except for Mom…

My senses are screaming, my survival instincts shrieking _Danger, get out, get out_ now! but I ignore them. 

I’ve just seen the glow of a golden arc ahead of me, towards the back of the building; from the blueprints JARVIS provided for me en-route, I know this is the dockside entrance of the warehouse. 

The bastard’s taken my Mom for an ocean viewing. 

“ _Where’s your pretty armor Stark?_ ” the voice calls and I can just catch the hint of a woman’s voice in the growl. 

 _She_ everyone has said. 

_She has your Mom!_

_A sister of sorts Stark…_

“Eh, I thought I’d leave it behind,” I say while easing silently around a rusting shell of a delivery truck, my eyes sharp for any sign of a trap.  “Kind of got sick of lugging it around.  Sure you know how that is Stane.”

Again, that flash of gold just ahead and then I hear her.

I hear Mom.

“Jack…” she whispers and my heart seizes so that I have to rest against the side of the car and catch my breath.  It’s the first time I’ve heard Pepper’s voice in years and the agony I hear, here in this dark hell, is enough to break me for good.  “Jack, get out of here sweetheart, get back to your father…”

There's a flesh-on-metal slapping sound from just ahead and my mother sobs.  I grit my teeth and close my eyes, thinking, _You'll pay for that Stane.  You'll pay for every mark you've put on their bodies._

"Watch it Stane," I call.  "You break it you buy it." 

There's a harsh laugh and a soft whimper from Mom.  I long to tell her everything is going to be fine, that I'm going to get her out of this alive, that nobody's dying today. 

But Pepper Potts was always the more practical of us. 

She always knew when I was lying. 

"Hold on Mom," I call as I study my surroundings for anything that can give me an advantage over a suited madman with leverage; before I can do anything though I hear the heavy door begin to slide open on screaming pulleys and my lips curl into a sneer as my enemy drags my weakened mother out onto the dock.

Sunlight streams into this hell of a warehouse and suddenly I know what I have to do. 

I pull my cellphone from my pocket and I step forth to meet my doom. 

It's not what I was expecting.

**

“You!” I gasp in the grey sunlight of a soon-to-be stormy California day.

I’m face-to-face with death and she’s grinning at me out of the face of a suit that I watched my father destroy twenty years ago.

And for the first time in twenty-seven years I am well and truly shocked. 

Floored, even. 

“What the fuck!  Where the _hell_ did you get the Detroit Steel armor?” I sputter as I haul Mom upright and shove her behind me, forcing her out of harm’s way.  She’s shaking and bleeding and possibly concussed, which means it’s easy to manhandle her across the dock and back to safety, away from the warehouse and her captor. 

My eyes haven’t left the stream-lined purple and silver suit standing in front of us though. 

I burst onto the dock a bare minute ago, sure I'd be able to take out whoever had been playing us Stark's for the past week.  But nothing could have prepared me for the sight I stumbled upon.

Mom will have bruises around her throat from the suit's fingers for weeks, I'm sure.  

Detroit Steel had her gripped by the throat and as I skidded to a halt on the slimy wood of the dock we still stand upon, red eyes had risen to meet mine.  

 _Come to join the party, little bird?_ the bitch had growled as my mother choked in her grip.   _You almost missed the main attraction._

 _Jack!_ Mom had choked as her head was turned forcefully in my direction.   _No!_

I had grinned, despite my shock and raised my hands.   _I'm the one you want Stane.  I'm the one you want.  Just set Pepper down._

I couldn't see the face of our assailant.  I had no idea who this was, who the _initiator_ was.  

All I knew was an ancient suit, not of my father's design, was choking my mother to death and I had to act before I lost her too.  

So I pulled a James Barnes.

I used my surroundings to my advantage.  Namely, Mother Nature. 

Something most people don't understand about body armor is, if there are exposed circuits on the back of the neck, even a little bit of ocean water would be enough to short-circuit a right arm for a brief moment of time. 

Even with arc reactor technology powering the core.  

And the Detroit Steel armor has plenty of exposed circuits for the taking.  That's a design flaw I would have rectified right away.  But then...I'm a Stark. 

It was fairly easy to pretend my polymer boots slipped on the slick dock, giving me enough time to scoop up some salt-water from the abandoned rowboat tipped on its side of the dock, unnoticed.  

I tossed it just as the suit turned from me, Mom still strangling in its grip, inadvertently providing me with the perfect target for a little electrical fuckery.

The suit's right shoulder is still smoldering, moments later.

But Mom's breathing. 

I make sure I’m firmly planted between her and her tormentor, as the suit sputters and the wearer swears foully.

"Keep behind me," I hiss as I back us slowly away from her captor.  The shoulder is smoldering and she's removed the faceplate, the better to inspect the damage. 

And I can see just who is playing the game. 

I shouldn't be surprised...

But I am.

“You’re-you’re fired Esther Cavers, if that even is your name,” I snarl as my greatest enemy, a woman from my father’s world famous R&D department, takes a step towards me in the resurrected Detroit Steel armor. 

“I don’t think that’s up to you Jacqui,” she purrs from behind the silver half-mask ( _that_ is a design flaw, if ever there was one).  She's replaced it now that her shoulder is functioning once more.  She cocks her head and I can just make out the glint in her suit’s red eyes. 

Esther chuckles before continuing, “After all, you’re not _really_ the head of the company, are you Jacqueline?  You just want Kincaid to _think_ you are.” 

I’m still processing this rather odd turn of events and I can feel Mom’s fingers digging into my hips as she tries to drag me away from mousy little Esther. 

Only she’s _not_ mousy, now is she?

“How?” I sputter as she takes a step into my personal space and trails her purple and silver fingers through my hair.  “ _Why?!_ ”

I don’t care that she’s touching me.

I’m trying to figure this out _goddammit._

“You Starks destroyed my family, you know,” she spits as her fingers tighten against my scalp and she forces my head back, to bare my throat to the poisoned blades at her wrists.

Detroit Steel.

What a freak show _that_ suit was. 

Dad tore it from Sasha Hammer’s body the night he finally killed her, twenty years ago, after a botched kidnapping she’d sought to commit in revenge against him.  

I can still feel her fingers on my arms as she tried to drag me over the balcony. 

I can still hear the sound of metal-on-metal as Iron Man destroyed her.

 _Why did he keep the suit?_ I think wildly as I force the foggy memories away and focus on the here-and-now.

“Like I haven’t heard _that_ before,” I choke as I simultaneously force Mom back with one arm and grip Esther’s fingers, uselessly trying to keep her poisoned blade from my jugular.  “What’d we do to you, Cavers?  Can’t say I recognize the name.”

She rolls her eyes and Mom sighs, for the first time since I’ve pulled her free of this bitch’s grip, sounding like her old self.

I missed her old self…

“My name really isn’t Cavers,” Esther snaps and I frown.

“Oh, sorry?  I guess I’m running a little slow here,” I mutter as she bends my head back even further and I choke out a laugh.  “What’s your name then?”

“ _Hammer_ ,” she hisses and her brown eyes are blazing furiously and I really feel like I know those eyes well.  But the Hammers have been extinct for twenty years…I’m pretty sure I don’t know any Hammers.  Unless...

Dad said Stane.  He said something about Stane, when I held him.  And he started to say a name.  

It hits me all at once and I almost smile as I realize I was right all along.  That I had known all along just who was playing the game. 

 _Stane's.  Hammer's.  Of course.  I should have seen this!_ I think wildly as I nudge Mom gently backwards.   _It makes so much more_ sense _!  That explains_ both _suits!  God, I've been an_ idiot!

Esther’s still hissing and spitting and I sigh as she snarls, “My last name is _Hammer_ you idiot!  You really haven’t figured this out yet?!”

I smirk and shrug a shoulder, entirely too nonchalant for what's taking place on this dock and for what I've just realized.  “Nope, sorry.  How about you tell me about it!” I say with a sneer.  

Mom’s sobbing now, her head buried in my shoulder and I can feel her trembling behind me. 

But her arc reactor is intact and she’s more-or-less all right, just a little battered around the edges.

But then, who among us isn’t? 

Besides, I can see my dummy arc reactor glowing cheerfully in the chest plate of the Detroit Steel armor.

My fingers tighten around the slim phone I hold and I wonder how long I can drag this out without getting Mom killed. 

I need to keep Esther distracted. 

I need to…

I need to get Mom out of this alive. 

“Better tell me what’s going on Hester,” I say with my Stark sneer in place, even as she forces us back on the slimy boards of the dock.  Mom’s dress, the Chanel she wore of the night of the gala streams around us and our hair is tangling together in the wind.

Red and black.

There’s a storm coming in off the Pacific.

I can smell the rain. 

And the faint hint of smoldering ozone.

 _Just a bit longer baby,_ I think to myself as my eyes skate over the arc pressed against my collarbones.  _Let mommy play for a bit…_  

“My name is _Esther_ ,” she hisses, she’s so furious and I can _just_ feel the edge of the blade at her wrist.  “And you should _shut up_ Stark or I’ll kill you _right here_!”

I chuckle and pat her cheek, gently, being careful to not jostle the thin blade at my throat.  “Is that any way to talk to the woman who _made_ you that lovely bit of tech nestled between those mosquito bites you call breasts?” I say cheerfully as I tap the arc reactor glowing between our arched bodies. 

Mom’s gasp is lost in the wind and the hum of Detroit Steel’s churning joints. 

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and nod minutely.  “She didn’t _tell_ you that?!  For shame!”  I laugh, even as the repulsor at my cheek begins to thrum.  “My, Fester, you’re just not very up-front are you?  Yeah, Mom, she kidnapped you guys because she just _couldn’t figure out_ how to make her own stinking arc reactor!  Imagine that, someone of her _intelligence_ not being able to create something Tony Stark perfected in a cave with _nothing but scrap!_ ” 

I sneer and spit into the silver half-mask glaring down on me. 

“You say you’re a Hammer?” I snarl as she starts to tremble furiously in her stolen suit of armor.  “I can see that.  Hammer’s always were a bit special in the head.  The Stane's were too, you know.”

I tap her metal shrouded skull and tighten my fingers on the phone, preparing to make my final move.

Mom and I are on the very edge of the dock now.

Esther hasn’t noticed me backing us so carefully towards the waves lapping gently beneath our feet. 

She’s been too focused on me. 

“ _Shut up Stark!_ ” she screams, her eyes blazing furiously.  “ _Shut up!  You don’t know anything!_ ” 

“Yeah?” I whisper as she leans into my face.  “I know who your Dad is.  Oops, sorry. _W_ _as._ ”

She freezes and Mom gasps again. 

“Jack,” she whispers in my ear, her voice horrified and shaky.  “Don’t push her!”

But I have to. 

I have a game to finish up. 

My fingers spasm on my phone but I don’t press any buttons.  I don’t press the only button I ever meant for  _her_  . 

“Why didn’t you take Stane’s name Essie?” I whisper with a leer.  “Why didn’t you take Zeke’s name?  I know who your Daddy is, who he _was_.  So why didn’t you take his name?  Makes more of an impression, wouldn’t you say?  Why’d Sasha keep the name from you?  Did she not love your dear-old Dad enough to let him _have_ you?”

She’s trembling and I’m having far too much fun taunting. 

And why shouldn’t I?

There’s a storm rolling in…

“You’re Sasha Hammer and Zeke Stane’s daughter, but I’d say you went unclaimed by both, didn’t you?” I whisper into her ear as my eyes close and my lips curl into a smile and my Mom’s hands lock around my hips; she’s whispering to me, telling me to stop, to leave well-enough alone.  It’s too late for that though.  Twenty-seven years too late.

This is _the game._   

I rest my fingers on the Detroit Steel’s shoulder and sigh before continuing, “Dad killed Sasha. He tore that suit you’re wearing from her body and watched as she threw herself off the balcony onto the rocks beneath our house.  He always _did_ say he'd killed her.  And I killed Zeke, before tearing _his_ suit from his cold corpse.  My, what a _history_ we have Esther _Stane._ ” 

“ _Don’t-call-me-that_ ,” she shrieks as she prepares to finish the last of the Stark’s off and I can see it now.

Can see her father’s madness.

“We’re sisters, you and I,” I whisper as I edge Mom back just a step further, towards the grey waters of the Pacific; in the distance I can make out the indistinct sound of repulsors humming and rotting wood shattering as salvation comes for the Stark women.

But I don’t pay any attention to any of it.

I’m face-to-face with death.

And I’m _breaking_ her.

Just like her father broke me, five years ago.

“We’re the children of madmen, Stane,” I whisper as I raise my hand to stroke her cheek under Detroit’s helmet.  “We’ve been raised under the shadows of heroes and villains, of geniuses and gods. And as such, all anyone expected of us was greatness.”  I sigh and rest my head against her purple and silver chest plate, next to the arc I’ve designed just for her, and I rest my hand, the hand bearing my modified phone, on the cool surface of the arc.  “Aren’t you _tired_ of it, Stane?” I whisper to her, to myself.  To our families.  “Aren’t you _sick_ of all that _expectation_?”

She’s trembling, shaking to pieces under my cheek, and there are tears on her cheeks. 

“Please,” she whispers desperately and my lips curl into a cold smile.

“Of course,” I whisper as my thumb presses against the phone’s screen, waking the device for its one good deed.

And as the screen begins to glow, to _pulse_ into life under the pad of my finger, Iron Man comes blasting through the wall of the warehouse, his repulsor’s flaring in the uncertain light of stormy LA. 

“ _Jack!_ ” I can hear his suit bellow over the faint rumble of thunder in the distance.  “ _Don’t do it!_ ” 

“Sorry Dad,” I whisper as I meet his suit’s blue eyed gaze over the shaking shoulder of Sasha Hammer's resurrected Detroit Steel armor.  The armor he tore from her body when she tried to steal me from him.  

He shouts my name once more but I ignore him before reaching back and shoving Mom that last inch off of the dock into the choppy waters of the Pacific.  She screams as she takes the plunge, her dirty white gown, streaming around her flailing limbs and I can see my father hesitate, his head swiveling between us as he tries to decide who to save first.  

I nod, just once, in his direction and say softly, “I made my choice.  Make yours Dad.”

I know he can hear me, even at this distance.  

JARVIS will make sure he gets my last good-bye.

Finally, it's time. Time to finish this hellish game up, once-and-for-all.  I meet the Hammer-Stane daughter’s gaze and smile gently. 

“ _I win_ ,” I whisper as her eyes widen and my thumb presses into the image of a red button on the screen of my phone. 

I don’t look.

There’s no point.

I know what it says. 

 _Deploy_. 

The last thing I see, as the arc reactor nestled in the breast of the resurrected Detroit Steel suit explodes, is Iron Man rising out of the Pacific, a choking and shivering Pepper Potts-Stark clutched, safe, in his arms. 

There's an almighty blast when my last great ploy, my last great  _game,_ rips through Esther Stane's chest and shatters her mother's suit once and for all.  I laugh as she screams and look out over the harbor to where my father hovers, my mother drenched and sobbing in his arms.

His eyes meet mine as my heart is torn to shreds and I sigh as darkness as heavy as the white-tipped waves of the Pacific swallows me. 

 _Finally, no one died for me_ , I think as Death takes the daughters of heroes and villains into his cold grip.  _Finally...it's over._


	17. Epilogue

The paper boy’s bike tires crunched loudly on the gravel drive of the last house on his route but he didn’t notice.  It was early, even for him; his boss (the manager of the _Daily Sun_ , sister paper of the _Daily Bugle_ ) had called his mom this morning and asked if Patrick could go out a bit earlier on his route.

The paper today was a special edition, it seemed. 

Patrick had agreed when his mom shook him gently awake and let him talk to Judith J. Jameson.  She’d promised him a bonus for doing this and even some donuts, if he returned to the office before eight. 

 _What kind of paper is it, Ms. Jameson?_ he’d asked, before she hung up on him. 

 _Something so pivotal this city will never be the same kid.  Now get your tush to the office!_ Ms. Jameson had snapped and Patrick had looked up in time to see his mom roll her eyes and shake her head. 

 _I’ll take you up to the Pointe, Patrick.  Go get your bike,_ she’d said with a sigh. 

It had taken him twenty minutes to deliver all of his papers to the residents of Malibu Pointe- twenty minutes during which he had been nothing but a pile of raging curiosity.  He’d wanted nothing but to look at the headlines of the front page of the _Sun_ , to see what had Ms. Jameson all hot-and-bothered, but he’d been good and had resisted for his entire route.

If he cut the rubber bands or pulled the plastic off of any of these papers, he could lose his job. 

After all, this was a special route, full of very influential businessmen and celebrities.  The other kids on the _Sun’s_ paper routes would _kill_ for this job, but it was his.

And he meant to keep it. 

As he pushed his bike up the gravel drive towards the towering gates of the last cliff-side ocean-view mansion on his route, his eyes kept drifting to the bag strapped to his handlebars. 

There was _one last_ paper there. 

 _One last_ special Saturday morning edition of the _Daily Sun_. 

He glanced around to make sure he was alone (of course he was, this was a secluded part of Malibu Pointe!) and that his mom (parked at the end of the drive and nursing another grande latte) wasn’t paying attention to him, before pulling the paper free of the canvas bag. 

He knew he was doing something wrong. 

He knew he was breaking _every_ rule of Ms. Jameson’s paper.

But he had to know. 

He had to know what was so important. 

He slid the special yellow cellophane free of the tightly rolled newsprint, made sure to tuck said plastic wrap into his bag so it wouldn’t blow away in the gentle breeze coming off the Pacific, and then with a whispered prayer, he yanked the rubber band off the paper. 

 _The Sun_ sprang open in his hands and for a brief moment all he heard were the screams of the wheeling seagulls overhead and the faint crash of the waves against the cliffs beneath him.

And then Patrick shook the paper all the way open with a gasp and read:

_**Stark Heiress to Resume Position as Head of Stark Resilient’s R &D Department?** _

He barely had a chance to absorb those words and the accompanying picture of a familiar and stunning, black haired woman in a gray business suit underneath the headline, before a strong gust of wind caught the newsprint and tore it free of his fingers.

“Crap!” he shouted as the paper tumbled and flipped through the wind, towards the gates of his very last house.  “Come back!”  He launched himself after the wayward paper, his fingers stretching desperately in hopes of catching it before it flew into the ocean or over the gate.

His feet slid and skittered in the gravel of the drive but he didn’t notice.  All he noticed was the front-page of his boss’s paper getting torn and smudged in the dirt. 

“ _Gotcha!_ ”  he crowed as he threw himself in a pretty impressive slide over the gravel, to slam belly-down on the front page of the _Daily Sun_.  “Thought you could get away from me!  Well I’ll sho-“

He fell silent when he caught sight of the pointed toe of a sky-blue heel pinning his run-away to the ground and he swallowed nervously when a hand stretched down to ease the paper out from under his fingers.

He didn’t look up right away.

He was too scared to. 

“Is there a reason why you’re tackling my paper, kid?” a woman’s brusque voice asked as she straightened. 

Patrick swallowed and shook his head.  “N-no ma’am.  I’m sorry,” he stammered into the driveway. 

The gravel crunched as she shifted in her heels and then she chuckled, “What was that, half-pint?  Can you look at me when you’re talking?  I’m a little hard of hearing lately.” 

He swallowed and then peeked out from under the brim of his Angels baseball cap up at the woman standing over him.

The early morning sun was in his eyes, silhouetting her, so he couldn’t see what expression may be on her face; he could just make out a smile and sparkling light-blue eyes, but that wasn’t what drew his attention. 

Nor was it the sling binding her right arm to her chest and the mostly healed cuts on her cheeks. 

And it really wasn’t the feather tattoos curling along her collarbones. 

Patrick's eyes widened as he caught sight of what was framed by those tattoos and he buried his face in his arms, mumbling, "OhmygoshI'msorryma'am!"

The gravel shifted beneath her feet as she squatted in front of him and cupped her chin in the palm of her left hand.  He peeked at her from out of his arms and she smiled as his eyes once more landed on her chest.  

He wondered what it was like to have-

What it  _felt like_...

“I'm guessing you know who I am, right, kid?” she asked after a moment of thoughtful silence on her part and stunned wonder on his; she stretched out a hand for him to take when he continued to stare and he hesitated for just a moment, nodded, and then he placed his hand in hers so she could haul him upright.

"There you go, half-pint," she groaned as they both stood, her a little unsteadily due to her center-of-gravity being off and she thanked him as he instinctively steadied her. "Let's get you cleaned up," she said with a chuckle.  "You look like you've been rolling in my Dad's workshop."  She straightened his baseball cap over his curly brown hair and began to dust him off, awkwardly, thanks to the sling. 

He jumped in surprise at her mutterings and she winked, "Flies are going to get in there if you don't close up that mouth, kid," she muttered, with a tap to his chin, before straightening and setting her hand on her hip.  

Patrick realized he was gaping and _still_  staring at her chest. 

“Eyes up front, bub,” she snapped and he jumped guiltily before meeting her gaze and shutting his mouth.  Her eyes were sparkling so he didn’t think he was in trouble.  “Well?  You going to answer the question kiddo?  Do you know who I am?” she asked as she straightened and his eyes once more drifted to her chest.

“Y-you’re Jacqueline Stark,” he stammered, his cheeks flaming as a rushing sound filled his ears.  “You’re Iron Man and Rescue's daughter.”

She gazed at him for a long moment, her eyes thoughtful and maybe a little scared, before nodding with a soft laugh. 

“That’s right.  I am,” she said as her fingers rose to tap gently at the edge of a softly glowing silver circle just peeking out of the edge of her blouse.  His eyes followed her finger's movements hungrily and he almost,  _almost_ , asked her what it was like...

Having a battery powered heart.

She caught his eyes on her fingers and sighed before bending to pick up the paper.  She gazed at the headline and her picture for a moment, shook it out with a muttered curse,  and folded it so her picture was hidden away.  “I really am, thanks kid,” she muttered as she handed it over to him and tapped the edge of his cap.  Before turning to walk back towards the gates of her house where a silver sports-car idled, waiting patiently for its owner, she tucked a ten dollar bill in his hand.  

“Keep the _Sun_ , kid,” she called as she opened the passnger’s side of the car and began gettng in.  “We’re only getting the _New York Post_ now!  Tell Judy that I won’t need a refund.  And kid!"  

"Yeah?" he asked when he looked up to see her head poke up over the edge of the car door; she smiled before sliding a pair of sunglasses on over her eyes and pointing a single finger in his direction.  "Don't believe everything you read in the Jamesons' rags, half-pint!"

His eyes widened as she flashed him a peace-sign and a man's voice muttered from within the car,  _Come on Jack.  If we're late, your Mom's going to kill us_.  She glanced once more in Patrick's direction and she chuckled, "See you later kid," she called.  "Keep your eye on the skies!" 

And then she was slipping her long legs into the car and closing the door.

Her smile and the faint glow of the circle in her chest were the last things Patrick Swain saw of the Stark heiress before she drove away in a shower of gravel and cloud of dust. 

It wasn’t until he was safe in the front seat of his mom’s station wagon, that he was able to read the _Sun’s_ article under the image of the smiling woman he had just met.

_Jacqueline Stark, freshly outfitted with an arc reactor of her father’s design, thanks to a congenital heart defect, will be announcing today whether or not she is following in Tony Stark’s footsteps as head researcher in her parent’s company, Stark Resilient.  This announcement comes in the wake of her rather unusual press conference three weeks ago and our sources believe it is because Tony Stark and wife Pepper Potts are considering retirement.  Either way, the choice has been left to Jacqui.  Will she follow in her father’s footsteps?  Or will she do what she has always done, by forging her own path?  The press conference where she announces her decision is later today and…_

“What do you think she’ll do, Patrick?” 

He glanced up at his mom’s question and smiled.  “Honestly?  I think she’ll do the right thing,” he said as he folded the paper away and rested his feet on the wagon’s dashboard.

His mom gazed at him thoughtfully and chuckled, before turning onto the highway that would take them home.  “Yeah?  And what’s that?” she asked as she merged with the early-morning traffic heading back into the city.

He shrugged.  “She’ll help her dad in the only way she can,” he said.  At his mom’s curious glance he tapped the folded front-page of the _Sun_ and continued, “She’ll help him by doing her own thing.”

His mom only nodded and took a sip of coffee.  “That would be a very Stark thing to do, wouldn’t it?” she mused as she turned on the radio to one of the local radio stations. 

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes as the classic rock began to issue and smiled.  “Yeah, I think so too,” he muttered. 

He wondered what it was like, having a battery powered heart. 

And he wondered if this meant another armored superhero was about to take to the skies. 

He hoped so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huuuuuge thanks to my best friend and beta Ambpersand. Without your tender care and confused musings of "why don't you ever use commas?" I'd never have gotten through these last two chapters. 
> 
> So I hope these last updates of Cages worked for you guys! 
> 
> I'm so glad I got through this monster relatively unscathed and I hope you all loved it. 
> 
> Thanks, as ever, for reading and you all have my love. 
> 
> -M


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